Paradise Interuppted
by Lynx Ryder
Summary: Life had never been sweeter...until the words 'Better than Wonka's' were printed. Now Mr Wonka will not rest until order is restored to his universe, but will things really be that simple?
1. Introduction

A/N: Good morning starshine! The Earth says Hello! Or, in other words, welcome to my CatCF fic!

This story is based on the book and Tim Burton film version of CatCF.

Disclaimer: I own none of the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory characters, nor do I own Tim Burton's brain or Johnny Depp's brilliance or Roald Dahl's wonderful imagination...more's the pity. This story is purely for fun not for any kind of economic gain, kay?

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__Introduction_

Rose Wilson had a simple little life full of simple pleasures. She lived and worked in a small, pink cottage that was almost hidden from view by overgrown trees and bushes that were covered in pink blossom in springtime. When it rained the noise of the water hitting the leaves would fill the air like music and Rose would throw open her kitchen window to listen. At any one time her kitchen was filled with a dozen saucepans on her three ovens, all of them bubbling away. Her house had a permanent sweet smell engrained into it from the homemade fudge she cooked in huge batches every single day, including weekends. She followed her beloved mother's recipe to make the most delicious fudge anyone could ever imagine. Rose could not imagine a better way to spend a lifetime. She loved every single part of the process, from choosing the ingredients, to watching the temperature and keeping it steady, right through to placing the cool treat into its own special, pink box ready to be taken to a shop counter somewhere. At first, at the age of eighteen, Rose had just sold to one local shop which had taken perhaps ten boxes at a time. Then larger orders were made, and different flavours requested. Over time Rose's fudge developed a reputation for quality, a reasonable price and above all a fantastic, dreamy taste that satisfied even the most demanding connoisseurs. Nowadays a pink truck pulled up outside her pink house every Monday and Thursday morning ready to be filled with pink boxes of fudge for all the shops in town and even some beyond. Rose always felt a rush of pride when she saw the truck through the leaves of her overgrown trees. 'Rose's fudge' was her business, her pride and joy, her life, and she never wished for any different. Rose Wilson was perfectly happy in her pink house, making fudge to load into pink boxes for the pink truck. Perfectly happy that is until one of her customers stuck a sticker onto each of the pink boxes before displaying them proudly in his shop, a sticker which read 'Better than Wonka's.


	2. Slugworth's letter

_Chapter 1: Slugworth's letter _

Charlie Bucket was small for his age but he had noticed in the last month that he was growing out of clothes at a faster rate than ever before. When he looked at himself in the mirror he could see other changes too. Not so long ago he had been so thin that his ribs had stuck right out of his skin like piano keys and his stomach had groaned in the most embarrassing manner because he never had enough to eat. Well, his stomach had not groaned in hunger for a long time and he was not thin any more. He looked just like a young boy should; well fed, healthy and happy. All because he had found Willy Wonka's last golden ticket. Charlie could still remember the feel of it in his hand, and the sight of it, bright and magical in his ordinary world. Now, thanks to Mr Wonka, every day was magical, every day was a new adventure. He was no longer that little boy that nobody noticed, the little boy who had to go home to his family and watch them suffer alongside him, oh no…now he was Charlie Bucket, the boy who had been chosen to take over Wonka's chocolate factory. He did not think he would ever wake up and not feel like the luckiest person on the planet, because he was, he really was!

Today he had agreed to meet his quirky benefactor Willy Wonka by the chocolate river. This was quite a distance from the section of the factory where Charlie was at the moment but he did not mind, he never minded walking anywhere in the factory; there was always something to see. It just so happened that he came upon two Oompa Loompas carrying something which looked like a rose bush between them. Charlie said good morning as they passed. They both bent their legs awkwardly in a sort of bow, the best they could do with a heavy plant pot in their grasp.

"Does Mr Wonka want to start a rose garden?" Charlie asked them, interested to learn more about the plant they were carrying. One of the Oompa Loompas started to laugh but covered it quickly with an unconvincing series of coughs. The other turned towards Charlie to speak.

"This isn't a rose bush," he said in his squeaky voice while his companion continued to cough and splutter, "It's a Trappodil."

"A what?" said Charlie for he had never heard of a Trappodil before, it certainly did not sound very friendly. The coughing Oompa Loompa began sneezing most energetically, almost causing the Trappodil plant to fall onto the floor. The second Oompa Loompa looked most disapproving.

"I'm afraid you will have to ask Mr Wonka, Mr Bucket. We do not have time for idle chit chat today." He gave a meaningful look through the branches of the Trappodil and both the Oompa Loompas set off at such a pace that they were soon out of sight. Charlie followed the path they had taken, taking in everything around him as he did so. Something was whirring behind a door to his left, a sign on the door said 'Experiment in progress, do NOT disturb!' Charlie walked on. He passed many interesting and wondrous things that would cause any other child to leap up and down, giggle and point, but Charlie was used to seeing floating marshmallows on the ceiling, he was quite accustomed to the occasional loud bang and the smell of burnt sugar, and he was very used to coming across Oompa Loompas at every turn; all of whom gave him the same little bow.

The eatable room was the first room Wonka had shown the lucky golden ticket holders and their families, and it remained one of Charlie's favourites. He loved the smell of the freshly mown mint grass, he loved the sound of the chocolate waterfall, he loved the colours of the flowers that bloomed everywhere and he loved the taste of absolutely everything and best of all, he loved that his house had been planted right in the middle of it all courtesy of Mr Wonka and several hundred Oompa Loompas. Charlie made sure he arrived a little early because he knew that Wonka hated it when people were even a little bit late, he hated it beyond the point of endurance though quite why Charlie did not know, he simply knew that he would always make every effort to meet Mr Wonka on time if that's what Mr Wonka wanted. Apparently Mr Wonka did not like being early either because Charlie found he was quite alone in the eatable room, he could not even see any Oompa Loompas although they were very good at remaining unseen. From his spot by the river he could just about see his house through the branches of one of the eatable trees. It was very peaceful with only the sound of the chocolate river running past, Charlie was sure he could spend a whole year in exactly the same spot and be perfectly happy. A few minutes went by and there was still no sign of Mr Wonka so Charlie decided to sit down. He crossed his legs and looked out across the chocolate river to the great long pipes which Augustus Gloop had been sucked up during his visit to the factory. Chocolate was being sucked up those pipes all the time and delivered to all the parts of the factory that needed it. Mr Wonka had shown him a very complicated map only last week which had every single pipe drawn onto it. Charlie had asked why the pipes criss crossed so much. Mr Wonka had looked faintly puzzled for a moment and then had started explaining why you should never try fitting thirty Oompa Loompas and a box of exploding chocolate fireworks into the glass elevator, something which he had made Charlie swear he would never try.

Charlie's thoughts drifted to his family. They had all adjusted so well to their new life in the factory that it was almost as if they had known they were coming. Grandpa Joe had even managed to convince Grandma Josephine to leave her bed. Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina were still in bed but now they didn't have to share it with anyone else, and Mr Wonka had even promised to start work on a new invention for them; a bed that would zoom around anywhere they wanted it to. Charlie hoped that he think to add brakes to it, he had visions of his grandparents hurtling full throttle towards the chocolate river with no way to stop themselves. Charlie's father, Mr Bucket, who had worked screwing caps onto tubes of toothpaste until the company went bust one day, had been offered a new and much better job by the very same factory which had fired him. He now repaired all the mechanical robots which screwed the caps, and supervised the remaining workers. It was fair to say that he and the rest of the Bucket family had never been happier.

Charlie checked his watch and then checked it again. No, it couldn't be. He checked it for a third time. He was definitely reading the correct time which meant…Mr Wonka was late! Charlie looked around in alarm sure that Wonka was close by and that somehow he had walked straight past him or something equally foolish but Willy Wonka was not just behind him or to his left or to his right. He wasn't anywhere. Charlie leapt to his feet. This was beginning to worry him, what if something terrible had happened?

Charlie ran. He ran over the eatable grass, past the eatable trees and out of the eatable room. He ran through corridors at top speed hoping he would catch sight of vivid coloured suit. He checked the Testing room, the Nut room, the Mixing room and….Charlie skidded to a halt, his trainers squeaking loudly on the clean floor. He came within a foot of colliding with Mr Wonka who was standing quite still, with what looked like a letter in his purple gloved hand. Despite the fact he had just come charging full pelt down the corridor and stopped just short of smashing into him, Wonka did not seem to have noticed Charlie was even there. He was apparently transfixed by whatever was written on the letter, so transfixed that he completely ignored the sound of Charlie catching his breath beside him. Charlie was used to Wonka's less than usual behaviour, but could not help wondering what the letter could say that would distract him so completely. The answer came to Charlie with a painful jolt, maybe it was something to do with his family. Charlie had asked Wonka why he was giving him the factory the day after the Golden ticket tour; would he not rather give it to someone in his family? A strange look had crossed Mr Wonka's face, almost like he was reliving some kind of physical pain, then he had said, "There is no one in the whole world that I would rather give my beloved factory too, Charlie. No one in the whole world." Since then Charlie thought a lot about Wonka's family and concluded, along with Grandpa Joe, that either Willy Wonka was an orphan and entirely alone in the world or, for some reason, he had become separated with his family a long time ago. Charlie looked up at his bewildering benefactor. He was wearing green velvet today which seemed to make his lilac eyes shine more brightly than ever. He was wearing his usual top hat, which was leaning dangerously to one side. The expression on his face was unreadable, but there was a light shining in his eyes that Charlie had never seen before.

"Um…Mr Wonka?" The effect of Charlie's softly spoken words was immediate and certainly not what Charlie had intended. Wonka jumped like he had been electrocuted, his hat tumbled onto the floor as did the letter which he snatched up at once, crushing it slightly as he did so. He stared at Charlie through eyes wider than a frightened child's.

"How did you get there?" he asked thoroughly mystified.

"I ran down the corridor," said Charlie, "I almost bumped into you, I was worried because you were late and…" Wonka's look of fright turned to one of utter indignation.

"Late? Late? I'm never late," he said as if such a suggestion was the most insulting thing he had ever heard.

"But," said Charlie quietly, "You are." Wonka looked at him again, blinked and then pulled out his pocket watch. He looked at it and blinked again.

"Oh my dear boy, you appear to be quite correct. How terrible of me, how utterly and completely irresponsible." He sounded and looked so distressed that Charlie was quick to say, "It's quite alright, Mr Wonka. It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter? But…" Wonka looked from his watch to Charlie, as if deciding between them.

"It really doesn't matter," Charlie assured him, "I wasn't in any hurry, and everyone is allowed to be late once." This brightened Wonka up at once.

"Ah yes, you're quite right Charlie, quite right as usual, but really, next time I'm going to be late, tell me to be early, won't you?" Fortunately Charlie was spared answering because Wonka remembered the letter he had all but crushed into a ball. He looked at it as one might look at something suspicious or poisonous. Charlie could tell he was going to become fixated again if he did not step in.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. Had someone in Wonka's estranged family been hurt? Or maybe they were trying to contact him again. Charlie's mind raced with possibilities.

"Wrong? Oh, my dear Charlie, wrong does not even begin to describe what this letter contains." He shook his head sadly. "Wrong is making an Oompa Loompa wear pink, wrong is watching a child drown in a chocolate river but making no attempt to save them, wrong is strawberries with no cream…" He shook the letter dramatically. "This, Charlie, is beyond anything that has ever been wrong with the world." Charlie's eyes had become very wide. When Wonka stopped speaking Charlie swallowed hard. What could be more terrible than not trying to save a drowning child? He was not sure he even wanted to know but he had to be brave, he had to show that he was capable of being trusted with information, even terrible information such as this.

"Please tell me," he said, his small shoulders set back in resignation. Wonka looked at him.

"Oh no, Charlie, this kind of burden should never be put upon such young shoulders. I will face it alone." Charlie was quite sure Wonka did not want to face it alone, he would not want to, after all.

"No please, I promise that whatever it is I will help you find a solution. If we work together we have a better chance of sorting whatever it is out, don't we?" Wonka considered this and then said abruptly, "When did I lose my hat?" Charlie bent down hurriedly, picked it up and handed it to him.

"Ah…now, where were we?" Wonka adjusted his hat until the angle met with his satisfaction. "Are you sure you want to know what this letter says Charlie? Are you absolutely, one hundred percent, never been surer in your life sure?" Charlie nodded and braced himself for the worst. Mr Wonka took a deep breath, presumably to steady himself, then smoothed out the letter and began to read.

"Dear Mr Wonka, I thought I would do the right thing and inform you of something which I noticed while out doing my shopping yesterday morning. Seeing as you see fit never to leave the confines of your factory, I am pretty sure this will be the first you have heard of it. I was looking at the boxes of edible delights in Treats, Sweets and All Things Nice and what should I come across but a charmingly wrapped box fudge? At first I presumed it to be one of your sickeningly sweet confections but upon closer inspection I was delighted to find it emblazoned with 'Rose's fudge.' Imagine my further joy when above this charming brand name I saw something else, something that threatened to send my heart straight through the roof. Written upon the box, as plain and as clear as anything, were the words 'Better than Wonka's!' Imagine that. Well, now you don't have to. Forever yours in animosity, Mr Slugworth."

Mr Wonka breathed slowly three times, reading the letter aloud had clearly cost him a great deal of effort.

"Slugworth," breathed Charlie, "But he's your…." Wonka shuddered so violently Charlie was afraid for a moment he was having some kind of fit.

"He is my most dangerous enemy, Charlie." He stopped, looked up at the ceiling and then down again at Charlie. "Do pardon my mistake, dear boy, for I believe he is _our_ most dangerous enemy. But wait! That is not the point, not the point at all!" He turned on his heel and began to pace; three paces forwards, swivel, three paces back.

"Then what is the point?" Charlie asked who was still struggling to see what was so terrifyingly bad about the letter he had just been read.

"What is the point!" Wonka stopped pacing, and for the first time he looked quite angry. He brandished the letter furiously. "Charlie Bucket, the point is that no one's chocolate or ice cream or lollipops or gum or fudge (he put a heavy emphasis on this word) is ever, ever, EVER better than mine!"

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A/N: It's been a while since I've written a fic, how am I doing?

(I reply to reviews via email where possible)


	3. Charlie's Correspondence

A/N: Thanks for the feedback! Let's keep on truckin'

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_Chapter 2: Charlie's correspondence _

It took some time to calm Willy Wonka down. Charlie had to make some very big promises along the lines of making sure no one could ever make such a claim again and tracking down the evil fudge maker who dared to call his or her fudge greater than that of the master of confection himself. Even then he was still in a state of great agitation all through the day completely forgetting what he was supposed to be teaching Charlie and ranting at length about the precise measurements that went into his fudge and how no one in their right mind could possibly hope to challenge his supremacy when it came to making the creamiest, most dreamiest fudge. Charlie did not think it wise to interrupt him so he simply nodded when he thought it would be appropriate and tried to remember the number of steps it took to get from ingredients to fully formed and ready to go fudge; it seemed to be an awful lot. It was about three in the afternoon when Mr Wonka, halfway through a diatribe about walnuts and their use in fudge, suddenly flopped down on the bank of the chocolate river and stared moodily across at the churning chocolate waterfall. Charlie sat beside him in silence. He felt awful, he wished there was something he could do to cheer Wonka up but short of asking the owner of Treats, Sweets and All Things Nice to please not put 'Better than Wonka's!' on the boxes of 'Rose's fudge' he did not see what good he could do.

"Charlie?" Wonka was spinning his pocket watch backwards and forwards without looking at it.

"Yes?" said Charlie eager to be of any help.

"I want you to buy a box of 'Rose's fudge.'" He spoke the name with some difficulty, like someone trying to speak while they had lockjaw.

"Why?" asked Charlie who could not understand why he would request such a thing.

"Because," said Wonka with a sigh, "I want to know whose fudge is the best."

"But I already know!" Wonka looked sideways at Charlie.

"How do you know?"

"Because you are Willy Wonka, and no one is better than you. I don't need to buy a box of someone else's fudge to know that I will like yours more. I don't want to waste my money." Silence fell between them. Wonka's mouth was slightly open, as if he wanted to speak but could not quite find the words. Charlie waited; he was not sure whether what he had said could be considered rude, he sincerely hoped not. After a little while both of them turned back to watch the swirling, twirling river; neither of them needed to speak to know what the other wanted to say.

The next day, Charlie found himself inside Wonka's office. Charlie was safe in the knowledge that no one else had an office quite like this one. For one thing the ceiling sloped downwards so that one half of the room was significantly smaller than the other. Wonka was sitting cross legged in the smaller half. He had a pair of enormous sunglasses on and was apparently fiddling with a dial on the side of them, the purpose of which Charlie could only guess. Charlie himself was seated on a high stool, so high that his legs dangled down from the seat, there was a desk in front of him and on that desk was a multicoloured typewriter which had already been set up with a piece of stationary paper with a large golden W as the header. Mr Wonka had made it clear that he wished Charlie to write a letter, the only problem was he had not specified who the letter was to be written to and why, two considerations that Charlie found it hard to work without.

"Bubbles, Charlie, that's the key," said Wonka from his position on the floor. Charlie frowned. Bubbles did not seem to mean anything to him; he wondered if it was supposed to and decided that it probably wasn't. After the bubbles comment, Wonka fell silent but continued to look around the room through the enormous glasses. Charlie tapped the keys lightly; they were ever so slightly sticky.

"Ah, Charlie." Charlie jumped. Somehow Wonka had managed to stand up and come right round to stand beside him without him noticing. "Haven't you started yet?"

"You haven't told me who to write to." Charlie tried not to sound rude but as it turned out he could have said anything at all.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" Charlie fought the urge to laugh. Wonka noticed and smiled his child-like innocent smile though Charlie wasn't quite sure what he was smiling at.

"You know Charlie, I don't usually write letters." He poked half-heartedly at the keyboard. "I would prefer if you did it."

"Ok," said Charlie patiently, "What would you like me to write?"

"Oh, I have to decide that, do I?" Wonka looked around as if searching for inspiration then he clicked his gloved fingers. "I know! You should write to Rose Wilson." Charlie wrote the words 'Dear Miss Wilson' and then went to the next line.

"And what should I say?" he prompted when Wonka showed no sign of telling him.

"Do you think the juicing room should be moved up a floor? I've always wanted the mashing room and the juicing room to be as far away from each other as possible."

"Mr Wonka, what should I write to Miss Wilson?"

"Do you have to call me Mr Wonka, Mr Bucket?"

"My mother says it's polite, Mr Wonka."

"Politeness never got anyone anywhere…except royalty, they're always polite."

"Mr Wonka? Who is Miss Wilson?"

"Who?" Wonka looked genuinely bewildered.

"Rose Wilson, Mr Wonka, the person you told me to write the letter to." Wonka turned away from Charlie and picked up a strange looking pogo stick. He twirled it around a bit and then put it down.

"She makes fudge," he said at length and then he turned his full attention to a packet of balloons he found in a drawer. Now Charlie understood. Miss Rose Wilson had to be the Rose of 'Rose's fudge' and Wonka wanted him to write her a letter telling her that she could not have possibly made the best fudge because his was the best and that was that. Only, Charlie did not write that. His fingers moved slowly over the sticky keys while Wonka busied himself blowing up balloons and watching them fly across the room in unpredictable directions.

Rose's post always arrived at precisely half past nine; it was so accurate she could set her watch by it. Sometimes Rose wanted to pull the door open just before the postman got there and say hello like her mother used to do, but she knew she never would. Instead she waited shyly, making sure she could not be seen through the small square of frosted glass in the front door, and only collected the post when she knew for sure that he was gone. She noticed the gold envelope at once, shining like a treasure beneath the usual four of five brown letters that contained bills and orders. She slit it open, a slight frown of interest on her face. The moment the envelope was opened a wonderful aroma filled the room. It was just like she had released an invisible cloud of chocolate air. Delighted, Rose could not stop a smile from springing onto her face. What a wonderful surprise, whoever could have been so thoughtful? The letter itself was written on a surprisingly stiff sheet of fluorescent green paper, so bright that Rose actually had to squint at first to make out the black typed writing.

'Dear Miss Wilson,

My name is Charlie Bucket. You will not have heard of me, but you will most definitely have heard of Mr Wonka. I am writing this letter for him. I'm afraid there has been some mistake regarding your fudge. Mr Wonka and I both agree that his fudge is the best in the world, and the claim that yours is 'Better than Wonka's' has upset Mr Wonka greatly. We would be very grateful if this label could be removed from your fudge. Thank you very much for your time, I do hope you are well.

Yours sincerely,

Charlie Bucket.'

Rose read the letter through twice and then her hands began to shake. Oh, she'd heard of Mr Wonka alright. Who did he think he was? Not only did he presume that he was superior to her, without even knowing her, but he had got the little boy, the fifth Golden ticket finder, to write the letter for him! Rose thought she might actually kick something she was so angry, only she did not want to damage anything or hurt herself so she refrained but she had to do something. She looked at the letter in her hand, the offending article. Mr Wonka was upset was he? Well…Rose ripped the letter in two. That was for telling her what to do. She tore it into quarters. That was for getting the poor little boy to do his dirty work. She tore it into eighths. And _that_ was for making her believe someone had taken the time to write her a nice letter! She threw the fragments into the bin and hurried into the kitchen. She'd show him.

Willy Wonka was in the Nut room, but the irony was completely lost on him. The squirrels were ignoring him, their nimble paws busy shelling nut after nut after nut. How satisfying it was to see his little employees so hard at work, maybe he would train up some more; you could never have too many nuts. There was a knock on the door. He turned but could not see anyone out of the square of glass. Nevertheless, he walked towards the door and pulled it open. An Oompa Loompa was standing there, his face turned upwards, and a square package in his hands.

"This came for you, Mr Wonka."

"Oh really? Did it? What is it?"

"Do you want me to open it?" The Oompa Loompa looked a little confused. Wonka shook his head looking grim.

"If it's an anti-inventions device, it will already have done its job." He took the package from the Oompa Loompa who retreated quickly. Mr Wonka shook the package slightly. It wasn't very heavy, maybe it wasn't an anti-inventions device after all. Feeling quite curious now, he began to open it. Then the box dropped to the floor, its contents spilling everywhere. For a moment Wonka stood stock still, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes bizarrely lit by an internal flame; then with one fierce movement, he smashed his cane against the wall where it shattered. He was already storming away as the candy rained down all over the floor.

Charlie had asked an Oompa Loompa where Mr Wonka was and was heading up to the Nut room using the Wonkavator. It had taken him a little while to get used to the lurching and perpetual stop and start motion of Wonka's custom made glass elevator but now he rode in it as comfortably as Wonka himself. The rest of his family never went near it, preferring to go the long way however long that may be. The door slid open and Charlie stepped out. Suddenly his foot slid forward without the rest of his body and he landed with a painful bump on the floor. He saw what had caused him to fall, there were pieces of candy everywhere, littering the floor like multicoloured hail. Charlie got gingerly to his feet. Mr Wonka's cane was lying on the floor too, smashed. A rush of concern filled Charlie and then his eyes came to rest on a cardboard box which was resting on its side, its contents close by. It looked like it had been dropped. Charlie walked carefully over to it. He could see three pink boxes and on each one, written in huge writing which almost covered the entire display label, were the words 'Why waste your money on Wonka's fudge when Rose's is the best in the world!'

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A/N: This stuff is so much fun to write, there is no one quite like Mr Wonka :D. Let me know what you think.


	4. What Wonka Wanted

A/N: Random thought no. 1 -Pigeons are very, very noisy birds.

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__Chapter 3: What Wonka wanted _

As Rose had paid to send the package in the post office she had felt a trembling rush of daring. It was so unlike her to do anything like this, and deliberately antagonising someone was about as anti-Rose Wilson as you could get, but Mr Wonka had got to her in a way few people could. He had insulted her fudge, her life's work, and so he had insulted her and her late mother who had taught her everything she knew. If only for the sake of her mother's memory she felt she had to do something, and now she had. The problem was the rush of daring that she had felt on her walk home had rapidly faded away leaving her feeling anxious and faintly sick. As she huddled in a chair, shaking like a leaf, she had to admit, revenge had a heavy price.

Charlie had swept up the fallen candy and collected the pieces of broken cane. Now came the problem of what to do with the box of Rose's fudge. Mr Wonka had opened it, Charlie knew this without having to be told, he had seen what was inside and, well, evidence of his anger was all too clear. Should Charlie just throw these boxes away? Or should he keep them for research purposes? He was not at all sure what research purposes might mean but he had heard Wonka say it a few times and assumed that it meant something important.

"Charlie, what are you doing down there on the floor?" Charlie looked round.

"Grandpa Joe!" Charlie was so relieved he stood up and threw his arms around his grandpa's waist.

"Now Charlie, whatever is the matter?" Grandpa Joe could see that his grandson looked worried about something from the way he was biting his lip. Charlie released Grandpa Joe and pointed over at the package on the floor.

"It's full of Rose's fudge, you remember I told you about her, didn't I grandpa?" Grandpa Joe nodded. "It says something different on the boxes now, grandpa. Come and look." Grandpa Joe did as he was told. He held one of the pink boxes very close to his glasses so he could read the writing.

"Oh dear, I don't suppose Mr Wonka liked that very much."

"I don't think he liked it at all, grandpa. What are we going to do?" Charlie looked up at his grandpa who was looking thoughtful.

"Is that all there is in the box, Charlie?"

"Oh, I haven't looked, grandpa!" Without wasting another moment Charlie began to rummage through the box. Two seconds later he had pulled out a letter. He held it over his head.

"Look at this grandpa!" he said, his face shining with the excitement of discovery. Grandpa Joe took the letter and held it close to his glasses like he had done with the box of Rose's fudge.

"It's addressed to Mr Wonka," he said then he looked down at Charlie, "Suppose you open it Charlie, suppose we have a little peek inside." Charlie didn't know whether to feel horrified or pleased that his grandpa had voiced his exact thoughts.

"Are you sure grandpa? Do you really think we should?" Grandpa Joe looked over his shoulder; there was no one around, no one but himself and Charlie.

"Go for it, Charlie. Open it." Charlie felt a ripple of excitement travel up his spine. He was reminded of the time Grandpa Joe had saved up his money and bought Charlie a Wonka bar. They had sat together on the bed, listening to the sounds of everyone else sleeping, and they had opened the bar together, both as excited as it was possible to be for they had a chance of finding a Golden ticket! Only there had been no Golden ticket inside, and for the first time in Charlie's life he had been disappointed at seeing just chocolate.

"What are you waiting for, Charlie?" Grandpa Joe was jiggling from foot to foot, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Charlie grinned and opened the letter. The piece of paper inside was folded neatly. It was powder pink. The words hand written with a darker pink ink and they shook slightly as if they had been written during the pressure of a great emotion. Charlie began to read aloud.

'Dear Mr Wonka,

How do you like the new packaging of my fudge? I think it is much more honest than the old one. In future, if you wish to contact me please write to me directly, I do not like to think of you using that poor innocent little boy as a shield. I'm sure Mr Bucket would rather not be involved too; you must not be so cruel to a child.

Good day to you,

Miss R Wilson.'

Charlie's eyes widened in dismay, what had he done? Grandpa Joe took the letter and scrutinised it as if looking for a secret message between Rose's neat words.

"Oh grandpa, I didn't mean her to think that, I didn't write it in the letter I sent." Charlie was close to tears he was so distressed. The thought of someone thinking badly of Mr Wonka because of him was too much for him to bear.

"It seems as if this Miss Wilson doesn't know what she's talking about," said Grandpa Joe, "I suggest we get rid of this letter and her fudge and forget all about her."

"But grandpa," said Charlie, "She thinks Mr Wonka is mean to me! She doesn't understand." Charlie gestured all around him at the walls that were to pass into his possession. All of a sudden he felt too hot in his new clothes. All Mr Wonka had done for him and Rose thought he was cruel to him!

"Perhaps you should write her another letter, Charlie, if it's really bothering you." "Do you think so grandpa?"

"Yes," said Grandpa Joe, "If it would make you feel better."

"I think it would make me feel a lot better. Thank you grandpa Joe." He gave his grandpa another tight hug and then sprinted off down the corridor towards a pen and paper leaving Grandpa Joe with the box of fudge. There was still no one else in the corridor but Grandpa Joe made doubly sure he was not being watched before he opened one of the pink boxes and slipped his hand inside.

"Wouldn't hurt to have just a little taste," he said to himself as he pulled out a perfect cube of vanilla ice. The moment it touched his tongue his senses exploded, it was as if someone had plunged him into a whirling pool of pleasure and all he had to do was keep eating. It wasn't long before Grandpa Joe had emptied the whole box.

Charlie raced towards the part of the factory in which his family lived, his footsteps echoing in the vast corridors. He through open the front door and saw his mother deep in conversation with an Oompa Loompa. The sight surprised him so much that for a moment he completely forgot what he had come home to get. Both Charlie's mother and the Oompa Loompa looked up at him. Charlie saw that his mother looked relieved to see him; he got the feeling that she was not completely comfortable in the presence of their houseguest. Charlie could not blame her, the Oompa Loompa was talking to her in his own language despite the fact he knew perfectly well that Mrs Bucket could not understand him.

"Whatever is the matter, Charlie? You look like you've run all the way from the other side of the factory!"

"I have," said Charlie as he struggled to catch his breath, "But nothing is the matter, mother. I just have to get something, that's all."

"Alright then," said his mother with a smile, "Mind you don't slip over when you're tearing about all over the place."

"He could always take the elevator," piped up the Oompa Loompa in English this time but Charlie had already disappeared down the corridor and into his bedroom.

Charlie found a suitable pen and paper and was about to start writing when he remembered the smashed cane and the candy all over the floor. He had not even stopped to think about Mr Wonka since he had picked up the letter! Stashing his writing supplies into his trouser pocket, Charlie hurried out of the room and back through to where his mother and the Oompa Loompa were still trying to communicate.

"I don't understand you," Mrs Bucket was saying very slowly and clearly but still the Oompa Loompa went on making his odd combination of gestures and noises. Charlie, who had just started taking Oompa Loompish language lessons from Mr Wonka, could pick out a few words.

"It's alright," he said, "We don't need any cocoa beans right now, but we'll let you know the moment we do." The Oompa Loompa turned to him and crossed his arms across his chest, then he walked over to the door and let himself out. Mrs Bucket looked incredibly relieved.

"Thank you, Charlie. I really don't think I could have taken much more of that pantomime." But Charlie was barely listening.

"I've got to go, mum. I just remembered something…"

"Ok, Charlie, but be careful, won't you?"

"Yes mum!" And off he went, back down the corridors he had just run down. At this rate he was going to need another pair of shoes!

As it happened Charlie heard Mr Wonka before he saw him which was fortunate, because he would have run straight past the closed door otherwise.

"I told you not to add coconut, no one wants coconut in their fudge…not even me!" Charlie tentatively approached the door which was labelled, perhaps unsurprisingly, 'Fudge room'. As he got closer he heard several more angry outbursts which made him half consider turning right around. He had never heard Mr Wonka raise his voice before; he had not even thought him capable of it! The prospect of being shouted at was not one Charlie relished but if you were friends with someone you don't just run away even if the other friend is angry. So, Charlie took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The fudge room was about quarter the size of a football pitch. There were twelve enormous vats of bubbling fudge, each making a different flavour. They were taller than Charlie but Mr Wonka could quite easily lean over and look into each one. He was doing so now with a look of disgust on his pale face. Charlie looked around for the person or persons that he had been shouting at but there was no one else in the room. Apparently Mr Wonka had been shouting at himself. When he turned and saw Charlie his mouth formed a silent 'oh' of surprise and then he smiled shyly.

"Do you need any help Mr Wonka?" The smile widened slightly and then he looked away with a sigh.

"Have you ever wanted something with all your heart, Charlie? Have you ever wanted something so much you think you will burst with the pain of it?" _Oh yes_, Charlie thought.

"A Golden ticket," he answered truthfully, "I wanted to find a Golden ticket more than anything in the world." Wonka's eyes suddenly seemed to grow very bright.

"You have no idea how much I wanted you to find it, Charlie," he said very quietly, "Oh, I wanted you to find it so much." They looked at each other, understanding passing between them like it always did when they maintained eye contact.

"Is there something you've wanted with all your heart?" Charlie asked thinking back to Wonka's original question.

"Apart from an heir?" Wonka asked rhetorically, "Oh yes." He looked past Charlie to a place only he could see, his past. Often he did not like what he saw there and Charlie would see him shiver or wince as if the memory had hurt him in some way, when that happened Charlie would go and stand silently by his side. On this occasion though Wonka came back to reality surprisingly quickly and there was only the very slightest show of disquiet.

"I wanted this factory," he said simply, "I wanted this factory more than anything in the world." He looked around the room as if it were the whole factory condensed and then, like a flicker of lightening, something passed across his face, something terrible, but it was gone almost as soon as it had arrived and Charlie did not have time to even begin to make sense of it. When Wonka looked at him again, with his quirky smile, Charlie was not even sure he had seen anything at all.

"You know what we are going to do, Charlie?"

"No," said Charlie but he could feel the excitement already, he had forgotten all about writing a letter to Rose now. Wonka gestured at the massive fudge tanks, his eyes full of blue flames.

"We are going to make fudge!" he said dramatically. And that is exactly what they did.

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A/N: Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate it :). 

I'm hopefully going to be seeing CatCF at the IMAX on Wednesday! Sweet Johnny heaven ;)


	5. Grandpa Joe's Malady

A/N: I'm not feeling too hot this evening so, to make myself feel a bit better, I'm posting this chapter. I hope it puts a smile on your face :)

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__Chapter 4: Grandpa Joe's malady _

Rose always shopped on Tuesday morning. This Tuesday was grey, wet and miserable which meant all those who could avoid being out were inside. Rose simply pulled her waxy, brimmed hat further down over her flat blonde hair and carried on walking. She did not mind the rain, in fact if it meant she had to deal with less people then she wished it would rain every time she wanted to go shopping. It would certainly make the whole ordeal a lot less traumatic.

"Lovely pears, five pairs for a pound, what do you say Miss?" Rose looked up startled. Rain seized the opportunity to fly into her face and she was momentarily blinded. Frantically wiping the water out of her eyes she opened them again to find herself looking at a fruit seller in the market. She had taken a wrong turn; this was not where she had wanted to end up at all!

"Come on Miss, you'd be doing me a favour. Five for a pound, that's the best deal you're gonna get at this time of year." He was already putting the fruit into a brown paper bag, _had she agreed to buy them somehow without opening her mouth_? Rose fumbled for her purse, removed a pound coin and took the bag of pears hurriedly, without looking at the market man again. She dashed off in the opposite direction, and finally came to a stop outside a large church. Shaking she sat down on the damp wall and dried her eyes as best she could with her wet sleeve. How had she ended up in the middle of the market? How had she ended up agreeing to buy pears? A few more tears rolled down her face. She had never been any good at dealing with people, especially men whose voices were so loud and threatening, and things had just got worse after her mother's death. When she had been alive they had gone shopping together, her mother had not minded haggling in the market while Rose hung back carrying all the bags trying to absorb some of her mother's confidence. If she had ever managed to gain any confidence it had all gone now. Rose sniffed, her eyes blurring again. She wished she could just go home but she could not live on pears alone. She stood up reluctantly, pulled her coat more tightly around her and headed back up the street, her lip trembling with every step.

An hour later and she was feeling a bit better, she had bought most of the things she needed and no one had shouted at her or scared her. It was almost over. She was looking at the wet ground as she passed Mr Sweets' shop. He was one of her customers, usually the one who placed the biggest order, only he had not ordered anything on Monday. Rose had thought nothing of it at the time, sometimes shops realised they had more stock than they needed and didn't order anything more for a week or so, but she decided to backtrack a few paces and just have a look in the window. The moment she turned round she wished she had not. The front window was all one huge display of fudge, a fudge mountain. Only it was not Rose's fudge that had been placed so prominently to catch the eyes of passers-by. It was Wonka's. Feeling as if she had just been plunged into an icy bath, Rose hurried on down the street trying not to think about what she had just seen. When she looked up and saw the same fudge mountain in front of her she thought she had somehow managed to walk in a complete circle, but this was not Mr Sweets' window, it was somebody else's. Rose looked across the street to where she knew Sweets, Treats and All Things Nice stood and sure enough, glaring at her through the window was yet another mountain of Wonka fudge. With a tiny cry of anguish Rose began to run as fast as she could back to a place where the only fudge she would be able to see was her own.

Mr Wonka had not stopped smiling all day. He knew exactly what the sweet shop owners would be saying now: '_Rose's fudge? Never heard of it, but have you tried Wonka's? It's the best in the world, you know_.' Oh yes, no one could outdo him when it came to confectionery. All the dark thoughts that had been hovering around him during the last few days had vanished. How could he have ever doubted himself? Now, where was Charlie? Quite coincidentally, there came the sound of running footsteps. Ah, that would be him. Wonka turned ready to greet him but it was not Charlie running towards him, it was an Oompa Loompa and they only ever ran if there was an…

"Emergency, Mr Wonka!" said the panting Oompa Loompa as he clutched his side.

"What?" Wonka's smile had vanished. He was ready to spring into action now wherever the trouble might be.

"It's Grandpa Joe Bucket, Mr Wonka. He's very ill, Mr Charlie Bucket asked me to come and get you."

"Well, where is he?" asked Mr Wonka urgently. If Grandpa Joe had touched that floating raspberry Frisbee when he had specifically told him not to…

"They're in the place where they all stay to sleep." The Oompa Loompa did not manage to keep his tone of revulsion to himself; an Oompa Loompa will never be able to understand the living arrangements of humans just as we humans may never be able to truly understand the living arrangements of Oompa Loompas.

Mr Wonka did not waste any time, a minute later he was in the Wonkavator pressing the button labelled 'Bucket rooms' and about thirty seconds after that he was standing in front of the Bucket's front door which had a charming little plaque Mr Bucket had recently purchased which read 'Bucket residence', but now was not the time for admiring plaques, the sooner he could find out what Grandpa Joe had eaten the better it would be for him. He had barely knocked on the door when it flew open.

"Oh, Mr Wonka, thank goodness you're here!" Mrs Bucket looked like she was about to burst into tears. Mr Bucket was just behind her, and he looked about as worried as worried could be as did Grandma Josephine who was sitting in a chair clasping at her knitting like it was a lifeline. Mr Wonka bowed a little towards all of them and had just opened his mouth to speak when Charlie appeared, his brown eyes round and frightened.

"Mr Wonka!" he cried and a second later he had grabbed Wonka's gloved hand and was pulling him through the house. Wonka did not even have time to gasp at the sudden physical contact. They arrived at a closed door, behind which was coming the sound of groaning. Charlie pushed the door open and slipped inside, pulling Wonka along with him. Grandpa Joe was in bed, the bedclothes twisted around him as if he had wanted to cocoon himself inside them. He was pale and every few seconds would let out another moan of pain.

"Ah," said Wonka as if he saw this kind of thing every day. He walked over to the bed and surveyed Grandpa Joe without bending down. Charlie looked from his grandpa to Wonka, his hands twisting around each other anxiously. When Grandpa Joe let out another painful groan, Charlie was unable to contain himself.

"Do you know what's wrong with him Mr Wonka?"

"I've absolutely no idea, Charlie." The hopeful bubble that had been floating in Charlie's chest burst.

"But…" Wonka held up a purple gloved hand. He was still looking at Grandpa Joe. Suddenly Grandpa Joe opened his eyes, reached out his hand and grabbed Wonka by the wrist. Wonka arched back in horror, but Grandpa Joe's grip was surprisingly strong.

"Wonka," said Grandpa Joe in a hollow, raspy voice, "Wonka, is that you?"

"Y-yes," said Wonka every part of him screaming at Grandpa Joe to let him go but the old man held on tight.

"You've got to help me," he said desperately and then he groaned again.

"Er…" Wonka could not concentrate on anything while he was Grandpa Joe's prisoner. Charlie slipped between them and gently prised Grandpa Joe's fingers apart. The moment he was released, Wonka leapt backwards out of harms way and eyed Grandpa Joe like one might eye a snake you have recently discovered to be poisonous. Charlie was holding his grandpa's hand now, and talking in a low, soothing voice to him. Grandpa Joe couldn't be dangerous or Charlie wouldn't be that close. Very slowly Wonka crept closer but he still stood behind Charlie, just in case.

"Ask him what he's eaten today, Charlie," he said not wishing to address Grandpa Joe directly just yet. Charlie did as he was told despite the fact Mr Wonka was only a foot away.

"Nothing I shouldn't have!" said Grandpa Joe defensively. Mr Wonka narrowed his eyes, keeping Charlie between him he said, "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes!" said Grandpa Joe, "I was in the Inventing room but I didn't touch anything!"

"Nothing? Nothing at all?"

"No!"

"Hm…well, that is strange, very odd indeed." Wonka began to pace; three paces forward, swivel, three paces back. "Are you absolutely, one hundred and twenty percent sure you haven't eaten a single, tiny thing?" Charlie noticed Grandpa Joe open his mouth and then closed it again.

"Tell him the truth grandpa," Charlie urged gently. Wonka stopped pacing to listen.

"Alright, I did eat something."

"Ah ha!" said Wonka triumphantly.

"But it wasn't something I'd been told not to eat!" added Grandpa Joe quickly.

"Oh?" Wonka frowned; he'd eaten something he was supposed to eat and still got sick? That wasn't good, that wasn't good at all. While Mr Wonka was thinking Grandpa Joe pulled Charlie closer to him.

"I ate the fudge, Charlie."

"What fudge, grandpa?"

"Rose's fudge," said Grandpa Joe and then he groaned again. Charlie span round to face Wonka, who had become distracted by a picture on the wall.

"Mr Wonka…"

"Yes, Charlie."

"Grandpa says he ate some of Rose's fudge." Charlie did not wait for the reaction for this piece of news alone. "Do you think it might have been poisoned?" Wonka blinked.

"Poisoned?" He looked from Charlie to the stricken Grandpa Joe on the bed. "I'll need to see this fudge, if that's alright with you, Grandpa Joe." Charlie breathed a silent sigh of relief, he had been worried that the mere mention of Rose's fudge would send Mr Wonka from the room.

"Where is it grandpa? I'll get it for you."

"It's under the bed Charlie," said Grandpa Joe weakly. Charlie dived under the bed and emerged a moment later with the box that Rose had sent. He put it gently down beside his grandpa. Mr Wonka approached it, his eyes still surveying Grandpa Joe warily as if he expected to be attacked at any moment. Once he was satisfied that Grandpa Joe was not going anywhere in a hurry, he cautiously opened the package he had dropped onto the floor before properly inspecting. Inside were four pink boxes, and they were empty too.

"What did you do with the rest of it?" Wonka asked when it became clear there was no fudge left in any of the boxes.

"The rest?" Grandpa Joe sounded confused. "I ate it." Wonka's lips twitched ever so slightly.

"You ate it all?" he asked in a would-be calm voice which was ever so slightly higher than normal.

"Yes." Charlie did not understand what was going on. He looked from Wonka to his grandpa and back again, hoping that one of them would give him an answer. For about twenty seconds the room was silent and then, quite unexpectedly, Mr Wonka burst into a torrent ofinexplicable giggles. Charlie watched him dissolve into childish laughter unable to comprehend what had started him off. Grandpa Joe was watching him too and mumbling, 'he's off his rocker' under his breath.

"Mr Wonka?" Charlie tried to attract Wonka's attention but he was too far gone. He was actually crying with laughter and was having to hold onto the bedpost to keep himself from doubling up. The door to the room opened and the faces of Grandma Josephine, Mr Bucket and Mrs Bucket peered in. The sounds of Grandma Georgina and Grandpa George could also be heard, wanting to know what was going on. And still Mr Wonka kept laughing. Charlie saw his mother look over at him. He knew she wanted to know what was going on, if only he was able to tell her!

"Mr Wonka, what's so funny?" asked Grandma Josephine. Everyone, except Mr Wonka, looked at her but immediately looked back when Mr Wonka started to speak.

"He…ate…the….whole….lot….," he said between giggles. Charlie turned, saucer eyed to his grandpa.

"Grandpa?" Grandpa Joe groaned and nodded. No one else seemed to have understood Mr Wonka at all. Grandma Josephine looked quite upset. She stepped into the room towards Mr Wonka, but he saw and backed away. He stopped laughing but there was still the echo of it written all over his face.

"I don't see anything funny!" said Grandma Josephine, her four foot something frame pulled up to its full height, "My husband is ill and you're laughing!" Charlie realised he was holding his breath. Wonka's eyes had flicked to the doorway which was still blocked by Mr and Mrs Bucket then they returned to Grandma Josephine whose grey hair was beginning to come out of her usually neat bun.

"I assure you, my dear woman, that your husband will be quite alright," he said at length and another smile fought to make its presence felt on his face.

"How can you be sure, Mr Wonka?" asked Mr Bucket. Mr Wonka edged past Grandma Josephine and turned the package on the bed upside down. The four empty fudge boxes fell onto the bed. Grandpa Joe groaned loudly.

"No one has ever died from eating too much fudge," said Wonka his eyes sparkling, "At least, I don't think so." He looked down at the pink boxes. "It wasn't even mine," he added remorsefully to himself. Charlie could not contain himself any more, he burst out laughing and a few seconds later he was joined by the rest of the family who all berated Grandpa Joe for being so foolish. Mr Wonka seized the opportunity to escape but the moment he had slipped out of the bedroom someone called his name.

"Mr Wonka? Is that you?" Wonka smiled amiably. Grandpa George was calling him. He walked towards his voice, both Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina were sitting up, their faces full of interest. "Would you mind telling us just what is going on? All we can hear is laughter!"

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A/N: Thank you for all those lovely reviews...each one of them made me smile. Thank you. 


	6. Decisions

A/N: CatCF at the IMAX is incredible, if you get the chance to go, take it! If I had more money, I would go again ;).

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__Chapter 5: Decisions _

Rose had been crying for a long time, at first it had just been about the Wonka fudge mountains and the nastiness of it all, but pretty soon she was crying for her chronic shyness, her loneliness and then for her mother who she missed more than she could possibly express. Life was just so unfair. She had been so happy making fudge with her mother, she had not wanted much and for no reason at all it had been taken away. Fresh tears streamed down Rose's face, how could Mr Wonka try to take away the one thing she enjoyed? She supposed that her little package had angered him. She imagined a terrifying tyrant, shouting at his workers to work all day and all night with no breaks just so he could make more fudge than she could. What did it matter to him if he flooded the market and people went to buy other treats? He made everything anyone could ever want. What was the point in trying to go up against someone like that? Rose knew she couldn't do it and it was breaking her heart. She knew just what her mother would do; she would roll up her sleeves and get straight back to work. She would never have let anyone defeat her, but she wasn't here now and Rose couldn't do it alone.

When the doorbell rang Rose presumed it was a parcel or something, probably someone sending back their order of fudge because they didn't need it any more. She wiped her eyes and tried to arrange her face into a little smile before pulling open the door. The man standing on the doorstep did not look like a delivery man. He was wearing a long coat which was glistening with raindrops. He had a long, thin, lined face and a bitter little mouth which was arranged in an expression similar to that seen when someone sucks on a lemon. He wore glasses that hid his eyes and Rose instantly felt nervous, wondering what on earth he could want.

"Good afternoon, Miss Wilson. My name is Mr Slugworth." Rose's heart began to hammer. _How did he know her name?_

"You don't know me, of course, but it is a pleasure to meet you." Mr Slugworth held out his hand but Rose did not move. She stood rooted to the spot in the doorway, peering out of the gap she had opened up in order to see. Mr Slugworth let his arm fall back down. He was smiling but Rose felt no warmth coming from him. She wondered wildly if he was going to force his way into the house and steal her possessions.

"You must forgive me for intruding like this, but I have a proposition that might interest you greatly."

"I don't buy things at the door," said Rose quickly. She wished her voice wouldn't squeak like that, she wished she sounded stronger. Mr Slugworth gave a very false laugh.

"I am not selling anything, Miss Wilson. What I am offering you is completely free." Rose's legs were beginning to tremble. She wanted to slam the door but was terrified that if she moved he would know what she was about to do and stop her. She was very close to crying again.

"I see that I should get to the point," said Mr Slugworth, "I have come here to help you fight the war against Wonka." Rose stared at him as if he had just spoken Chinese.

"Pardon me?" She had not heard correctly, that was all. He couldn't have said Wonka; he couldn't know that much about her…_could he? _

"Mr Wonka," said Mr Slugworth clearly, "I know what he is doing to you, because he's done the same to me. On our own we're useless, but together…together we can defeat him!" Rose was shaking now. Mr Slugworth had looked quite manic for a second but the look was gone now, perhaps she had imagined it. He was staring at her expectantly now. It was time for a decision.

"I don't think I'm interested," said Rose with as much force as she could muster and she shut the door. She slid down and sat with her back against it for a long time convinced that if she stood up Mr Slugworth would still be there.

Grandpa Joe was feeling slightly better the next day but Grandma Josephine was so cross with him she had flatly refused to let him get out of bed. Charlie knew there was no arguing with her so he waved his despondent grandpa goodbye and headed off to explore the factory. It seemed incredible that even though Charlie had been exploring the factory for a month or so he still came across rooms everyday that he had never even seen before. This particular day he came to a room which had a sign draped across it reading 'Danger – Keep Out' although from the sounds of it someone was singing in there. Charlie stopped to listen. He wondered who it come be, whoever it was they had a real talent.

"Sensational Singing Sticks," said a voice behind him. Charlie turned and saw an Oompa Loompa looking up at him. He thought it was a female but it was hard to tell, they all looked very similar.

"What are those?" he asked. The singing was still going strong.

"They're perfect for karaoke's, sweets which give you the wonderful singing voice you've always wanted for two hours, well, they're supposed to anyway. That guy's been singing for almost two days." She jabbed her thumb at the closed door.

"Oh no," said Charlie, "Are you trying to find a cure?"

"I've already found one," said the Oompa Loompa and she pulled two lumps of cotton wool out of her pocket. She jammed one in each ear, nodded at Charlie and then disappeared into the room marked 'Danger'. Charlie caught a burst of clear singing before the door was closed again. He carried on past it, hoping that a real cure would be found soon. He did not think the singing Oompa Loompa wanted to stay that way forever. A bit further on was a very long glass window through which Charlie could see Oompa Loompas on running machines. Next to them other Oompa Loompas took notes on clipboards. Charlie watched them for a while and then moved on, saving up all his questions for when he met up with Mr Wonka. As he turned the corner he heard a familiar voice say, "Well, I am his father and…" Another familiar voice answered.

"Haven't we had this discussion before Mr Bucket? I am a very busy man, you know." Charlie came to a stop right where he was for he knew if Mr Wonka and his father knew he was there they would stop talking and he wanted to know what they were talking about.

"I tried to discuss it before but you accused me of mumbling," said Mr Bucket in a tone which indicated he was trying very hard to be reasonable, "I really think Charlie should be going to school." Charlie started; he had hardly given school a second thought!

"Why? Why does he need to go to school? He doesn't need to learn about anything other than what goes on in this factory." It sounded like Charlie's father had got Wonka trapped where he could not just disappear, he definitely sounded like he would rather not be acknowledging Mr Bucket at all.

"Aren't you rather making up his mind for him?" said Mr Bucket, "He's only a child; he might decide he doesn't want anything to do with the factory." Charlie heard Wonka gasp. He could imagine the hurt look on his face and it tore at his heart. He was just about to reveal himself when his father began to speak again.

"He needs to be with people his own age, he needs to have a life, Mr Wonka. You can't expect to keep him locked up in here forever." Mr Bucket seemed to be going for the shock tactic.

"He's not locked up," said Mr Wonka weakly. He seemed to be losing the will to fight. Mr Bucket's tone became more gentle.

"The point is he's missed a lot of school. I've allowed it because we all needed to adjust to this new life but now I think it's time he rejoined his classmates." Charlie crept closer to the voices. If he leaned out a little way he could just about see them. Charlie had been right, his father, who had his back to him, had cornered Wonka. Apparently he was waiting for Mr Wonka to say something but by the looks of things he would be waiting a long time. Wonka had shrunk back right against the wall and was looking at Mr Bucket through wide, lilac eyes. He looked just like a child who did not understand why he was being told off. Charlie's heart went out to him. Mr Bucket was not a heartless man, he could understand loneliness and he was grateful for all Mr Wonka had given his family, but he was not about to let his son become isolated from the real world, standing in front of him was the living breathing proof of what would happen if he did that.

"Do you see my point Mr Wonka?" he asked. The way Mr Wonka was looking at him was decidedly odd, when they had first met in the corridor he had seemed determined to defend himself but now he had completely given in. He even looked a little frightened as if he expected to be hurt in some way. Just when he was about to step away, Wonka spoke.

"Charlie can do whatever he likes." Mr Bucket smiled, but it felt so forced he was sure it would have been better if he had not bothered. Wonka did not smile so Mr Bucket decided now would be a good time to leave. He would go and find Charlie and tell him the outcome of their discussion. Charlie saw his father coming his way; he had just enough time to scramble into the nearest room. It wasn't that he wanted to avoid his father, he simply wanted to get to Mr Wonka as fast as possible and he knew his father would want to talk to him about going back to school. He waited for about thirty seconds and then opened the door a fraction, the coast was clear.

Wonka stumbled into the nearest room, there was no better word for it, he quite literally stumbled. His thoughts were swirling like the chocolate in the chocolate river. He had not wholly appreciated just how perfect life had been in the last month until the moment Mr Bucket had told him that it would have to come to an end. He had become so used to having Charlie around, so used to having someone take an interest in him for once, someone who didn't think he was crazy or stupid or dangerous. No one had ever treated him like Charlie did, and the thought of him going to school made Wonka feel sicker than Grandpa Joe. How could Mr Bucket pretend that he was doing the right and sensible thing? Had he never been to school! Wonka shuddered and suddenly there he was, back in that cold, wet playground again. There was no escape from them; you weren't supposed to escape a playground apparently. You were just supposed to stand there while everyone else…

"Mr Wonka?" Wonka's memory vanished and he was back in his factory again, his beloved factory. He was in the juicing room; he had only just noticed the smell of fruit and Charlie was standing by the door. But why did he look so worried?

"Mr Wonka, I heard you and my father talking." Oh…so he knew. "I'll always want to work here, I won't change my mind!" Wonka's heart shot straight upwards towards the ceiling but the next sentence pulled it straight back down. "But I do want to go to school. I can go to school and then come home and help you, I can do both!" But Wonka had not understood the first part; Charlie _wanted_ to go to school? Who on earth was this strange creature he had invited into his factory? How could the kind, loving Charlie he had seen over the past month actually _enjoy_ school? Charlie watched all happiness drain from Wonka's face.

"Do whatever you want, Charlie." And before Charlie could stop him he had crossed the room and disappeared through a door in the back wall, slamming it shut behind him.

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A/N: What a fun chapter this was to write, and somewhat relevantas most people are going back to school around this time if they haven't gone back already. 

Thank you for the reviews, I love them even more than I like Wonka chocolate ;)


	7. Back to School

A/N: Where does time go! Honestly, it's just racing away from me :P Anyway, enough dawdling...here's your next chapter:

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__Chapter 6: Back to school_

Charlie returned miserably to the Bucket house. He passed his mother and headed straight to his grandparents' bed. Grandpa Joe's face lit up when he saw him.

"Charlie! Come in and talk to your grandpa." Charlie climbed onto the bed beside him. He knew his grandpa wanted to hear fun and exciting things but Charlie felt like all the fun and excitement in his body had been drained away by the look on Mr Wonka's face when he had told him to do whatever he wanted.

"Grandpa, I think Mr Wonka is mad at me."

"Nonsense Charlie!" said Grandpa Joe jovially. He had seen the way Mr Wonka treated his grandson, he doubted that there was anything Charlie could do to make him angry. But Charlie was adamant.

"Really grandpa! He doesn't want me to go to school."

"School? What do you need school for?" asked Grandpa Joe somewhat unhelpfully.

"But grandpa," Charlie said quietly, "I _have_ to go to school." He sighed and his shoulders slumped. Grandpa Joe was sorely tempted to say, 'Of course you don't have to go!' but Charlie was right, there are certain things everyone has to do even if you are heir to an enormous chocolate factory and going to school is one of them. He put his thin arm around Charlie.

"Don't worry, I'm sure Mr Wonka will understand." But even as he accepted the hug from his grandpa, Charlie was not so sure.

Rose was scared to go out of her house for the first few days after Mr Slugworth's visit. Strange men knocking on the door was the stuff of nightmares, wasn't it? Or was that just her nightmares? It didn't matter, Rose was frightened and that was that. When he failed to reappear however she slowly began to relax. She had told him she wasn't interested and he had gone away; she repeated this mantra to herself over and over again while she stirred her fudge but something else was bothering her, something that she could not hide from. Only two people had ordered from her this week. Two out of a usual client list of over fifteen! It was nothing to worry about at the moment but what if it continued? What if next week no one wanted to buy anything from her? Cold fear clutched at her heart. If no one bought her fudge she would have nothing else to offer. She wasn't like Mr Wonka with his big factory and bigger reputation, all she had was her simple recipe book written in her mother's small, neat handwriting. Things were not desperate yet but she was coming to realise that there may come a day when she would regret turning Mr Slugworth away.

Grandpa Joe was able to get out of bed and see Charlie off for his first day of school. Charlie waved goodbye to him, and to his mother. He felt like he had never been to school before, the whole world seemed to have changed since he last shouldered a school bag. With a heavy heart he looked up at the factory in which he knew Mr Wonka was working, Charlie had not spoken to him or even seen him for two whole days and the noise of the door slamming still rattled inside his head. He had hoped all through breakfast that Mr Wonka would appear to see him off, he had even begun to believe that he would see a purple gloved hand waving from a window but it had got closer and closer to the time he had to leave and still there was no sign.

"Maybe he's forgotten, grandpa," he said as they were walking towards the door, "Maybe he's just forgotten." Grandpa Joe had not had the heart to reply.

Grandpa Joe and his mother were still waving, waiting for Charlie to pass out of sight. Slowly, very slowly, Charlie began to walk but he knew now that however long he took Mr Wonka wasn't coming. As the huge gates of the factory swung open, Charlie took one last look back and had to wipe away a tear with his sleeve.

Grandpa Joe and Mrs Bucket closed the door behind them. Grandpa Joe spoke first, his body shaking with rage as he did so.

"How dare he? How dare he upset Charlie like that!" He looked around at his daughter. "Well? You saw him! You saw how upset poor Charlie was!"

"There's no use getting upset about it yourself," said Mrs Bucket although she looked quite upset herself. "Perhaps Mr Wonka had a perfectly good reason for…"

"Perfectly good reason, ha!" snorted Grandpa Joe, "I have a good mind to go and find him and tell him exactly what I think. Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do!" And before Mrs Bucket could stop him, he had marched off down the corridor in the direction of the glass elevator.

Time had lost all of its meaning. Day and night had merged seamlessly into one space, and Mr Wonka was filling that space with ideas. The trouble was none of them were any good. The Oompa Loompas who usually occupied the Inventing room had wisely made themselves scarce. An over-tired, frustrated genius is never something anyone should mess with but Grandpa Joe didn't care, he was on a mission. No one upset his grandson without good reason and got away with it! He had no idea what had led him to the Inventing room but it was the first room he tried and the moment he saw Mr Wonka he let forth a triumphant, "There you are!" Mr Wonka whirled around, a look of abject terror on his face. Grandpa Joe, who had not been expecting such an extreme reaction, faltered. Wonka stared at him unable to separate the harmless sight of Grandpa Joe with the picture in his head that had haunted him all his life. It took a particularly well timed whirr from one of the machines in the corner to bring Wonka back to reality. The real and the imagined separated and his expression changed to one of confusion rather than fright.

"Here I am," he said. This rather strange answer combined with Wonka's over the top initial reaction had rather taken the wind out of Grandpa Joe's sails. He struggled to remember what he had been going to say and came up short but Wonka had recovered himself completely now and was looking impatient.

"I am a busy man, you know," he said irritably. Grandpa Joe bristled.

"Too busy to say goodbye to Charlie?" Wonka's jaw tightened, and Grandpa Joe knew he had not simply forgotten like Charlie had wanted to believe. Oh no, he had not forgotten at all. Grandpa Joe felt blood rising to his face.

"How could you do that to him?" he demanded, "He was waiting for you, he believed in you!" Mr Wonka gave no indication of having heard Grandpa Joe at all. He carried on looking at him for perhaps three seconds and then turned and began to walk away.

"Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you!" said Grandpa Joe in his most authoritative voice. Mr Wonka turned back round to face him but continued walking backwards away from him.

"My dear man," he said quite coldly, "I fear you are mistaken, this is _my_ factory and I may walk away whenever and wherever I choose no matter who is talking to me." He turned back to face the direction he was travelling. Grandpa Joe shut his mouth, his anger was draining away but it was leaving something else in its wake. This was the man Charlie idolised, the man who he trusted and looked up to.

"You can walk away from me any time you like, Mr Wonka, but you made a little boy very miserable today. All he wanted was a wave. That's all. Just a wave. Not much to ask, is it?" He noticed Wonka had stopped walking but he did not stay to see any more. He did not want to stay in the same room as someone who had been so needlessly cruel to Charlie, Charlie who would no more be mean to someone than sell Wonka's secrets to Slugworth!

Mr Wonka heard Grandpa Joe leave but his words lingered on like the unpleasant liquorice aftertaste he was trying to get rid of in his Coloured Creams. _Just a wave…._

Charlie had not had a great day at school. His teachers had been quick to show him just how much he had missed out on during the last month and they were most unsympathetic to his excuse.

"You can't expect to be treated any different to everyone else now just because you've stumbled upon some good fortune," they all said in their own way; every one of them barely able to hide the jealously and bitterness from their expressions. Charlie tried to tell them that he didn't want to be treated any differently from any one else but no one took any notice. They assumed he wished to be treated like royalty, and nothing would make them open their eyes and see the truth. The other children were no better. They whispered things like 'chocolate boy' under their breath when they passed him and closed ranks whenever he approached. And so he found himself friendless and snowed under with work on his first day back. He did not even have the prospect of being shown some new invention by Mr Wonka when he arrived back at the factory because he knew that Wonka still wouldn't be talking to him. When it reached half past three and the bell rang for the end of the day Charlie was the last child out of the classroom and his were the slowest pair of feet walking down the street and yet, as he walked up to the gates he still half expected to see Mr Wonka waiting to greet him with one of his little smiles but there was no one waiting for him. He sighed heavily as he waited for the gates to open and then walked in, knowing that an Oompa Loompa somewhere was making completely sure that he was the only person to step into the factory grounds.

"Charlie! We were wondering where you had got to!" Mrs Bucket wrapped her son up in a tight, loving hug. "How was your day at school?"

"It was very good, mum. We're doing a project on snakes." He didn't mention the fact that the other children had nearly finished their projects and the teachers had given him a final deadline of three days time.

"Charlie!" Mr Bucket appeared with a wide smile on his face. "I just popped back from work for a while to see if you had arrived back, how was your day?"

"It was very good. Mrs Clarkson told me that I haven't missed much in maths." He neglected to tell his father that she had also added, 'But what you have missed is the most important part of the whole syllabus!'

"Charlie!" Grandpa Joe had arrived on the scene. "How was your day? You look exhausted!" Charlie looked up. He hated lying to his parents, but he hated lying to his grandpa even more. But Grandpa Joe was smiling, just like his mother and father, how could he tell them that he didn't know how he was going to get all his work done in time? How could he tell them that no one had spoken a kind word to him all day? How could he tell them that everyone thought he was looking for fame because he now lived in the Chocolate Factory? He couldn't.

"I had a good day, grandpa." Grandpa Joe grinned. Mrs Bucket beamed and Mr Bucket clapped Charlie lovingly on the back. Charlie looked at them all in turn and then asked the question which had been burning on his mind since he had got through the door. "Has anyone seen Mr Wonka?" Mrs Bucket looked at Mr Bucket, Mr Bucket looked at Grandpa Joe and Grandpa Joe, with his fingers crossed behind his back, looked at Charlie.

"No, Charlie," he said, "He must be busy with something very important." Charlie swallowed and then nodded, forcing a smile onto his face.

"Yes," he said, "I'm sure he's working on something wonderful right now." And with that he set off to sort out the books he had brought home and get started on his homework.

Charlie had to tell Grandma Josephine, Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina what he had told his parents and Grandpa Joe. They all smiled too, and squeezed Charlie's hand in a proud, affectionate way. Charlie wished that he could have told just one of them the truth, but if he did that all their smiles would disappear so he shouldered his school bag once again and went off to find a quiet place in which he could start his snake project and the long list of extra maths questions Mrs Clarkson had set. He decided to go and sit by the chocolate river. It was usually quiet there, save for the rushing of the chocolate waterfall, and maybe, just maybe, he would find Mr Wonka in there, planting a new Red Liquorice Bush. He was disappointed once again; the room was empty save for two Oompa Loompas who were digging enthusiastically into the soil in one corner. Charlie tore his eyes away from them and went to sit on the bank of the river. Once he was sat down he closed his eyes and breathed in the rich, sweet smell of the chocolate. It still smelt as good as it had on that first morning when he and the other four Golden ticket holders had been shown in. When he opened his eyes, he was startled to see that he was no longer alone. Mr Wonka was sitting on a rather large mushroom shaped object, which Charlie remembered to be full of cream. Mr Wonka's lilac eyes went from looking at him to looking at the floor to looking at him again but Charlie barely noticed.

"Mr Wonka!" he cried and the joy and relief in his voice were all too obvious.

"Hello Charlie," Mr Wonka replied very softly. Charlie was bursting to talk, bursting to ask what Mr Wonka had been doing for the past few days but he knew that adults did not always liked being asked such questions, and in truth, he was a little afraid of the answer. Wonka, however, seemed to be in no great hurry to talk. He was still looking at Charlie and then looking away, Charlie thought he looked a little fearful, perhaps he did not want to be here at all, perhaps he had simply wanted to come and sit by the chocolate river in peace.

"I'm sorry," said Charlie and he reached over to grab his bag, "I'll go somewhere else."

"What?" said Wonka looking confused, "But…but I came to find you, and now…you're leaving?" Charlie looked up, hardly daring to believe what he had just heard.

"You came to find me, Mr Wonka?"

"Well, of course I did," said Wonka sounding as if he would really rather not have had to spell it out. Charlie tried not to grin as widely as he felt like grinning.

"Was there something you wanted? Something I can help you with?" he asked eagerly. Wonka looked down at him, a curious expression on his face.

"No," he said. Charlie's face fell dramatically but to his surprise Wonka smiled.

"Did it never occur to you Charlie that I might simply want your company?" Charlie's mouth fell open ever so slightly. Mr Wonka looked away from him and his eyes fell upon the bag at Charlie's feet.

"What's in there?" he asked curiously. Charlie, who was still feeling pleasantly stunned, looked at his bag too.

"Just my school books." This short sentence brought Charlie back to earth with a bump. Mr Wonka wanted his company, he actually _wanted_ his company, and he had a mountain of homework to plough through! His brow furrowed as he considered his predicament. He was not expecting Mr Wonka to say anything, much less this:

"Did you have a bad day at school?" He almost whispered it so at first Charlie was sure he had just imagined the words but when he looked up and saw Mr Wonka's half anxious, half sympathetic expression he knew he had not imagined them at all. A great weight was lifting from him; Mr Wonka wouldn't laugh or tell his parents, he could tell him. He nodded.

"The teachers told me I have to catch up with everything I've missed but there's so much, I don't know how…" Charlie stopped because Mr Wonka had slipped down off his makeshift stool and taken hold of Charlie's school bag. For one wild, uncomfortable moment Charlie was sure he was going to throw it into the chocolate river! But he didn't, instead he pulled out one of the books from inside and began flicking through it.

"Adding, subtracting, multiplying, boredom-defying…yes, yes, yes, what have you got to do, Charlie? I used to be quite good at maths, you know." Charlie told him the page numbers that Mrs Clarkson had set for his homework.

"And I have a project about snakes that I'm supposed to finish in three…" Before Charlie had even finished speaking Mr Wonka had snapped his fingers and an Oompa Loompa had appeared from nowhere by his side.

"I need as much information on snakes as possible," he said without looking away from the maths book. The Oompa Loompa nodded and then hurried away, if he thought this a bizarre request he did not show it. Charlie watched Mr Wonka in amazement as the chocolatier began to smile.

"Ah yes, Charlie, this isn't so difficult but really, you have an awful lot to do." He looked most displeased. "Teachers should not set so much homework, not everyone has a chocolate factory to work in!" He looked down at Charlie who was beaming.

"Shall we begin?"

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A/N: Maths lessons from Mr Wonka...no matter how much you hate the subject, that is an incentive and a half! ;)

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, let me know, kay?


	8. Unbelievable

A/N: Yep, it's official, Mr Wonka would be an overnight sell out as a maths tutor, who would have thought it? ;)

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_Chapter 7: Unbelievable _

Charlie could not have been happier. He got an A+ for his snake project, earning him three gold stars and a lot of jealous looks from his classmates. He was also doing much better in maths than he had ever done before in his life. Mrs Clarkson was simply amazed when he handed in his test and scored 7/10.

"Is someone helping you at home?" she asked. Charlie nodded, a smile on his face. Mrs Clarkson, who had a boy of her own a little older than Charlie, smiled too.

"Good for you," she said warmly, "Your daddy must be some teacher."

"Oh, it's not my father!" said Charlie, "Mr Wonka teaches me." He did not see Mrs Clarkson's look of absolute incredulity because he bent to tie his shoelace at that exact moment. Lessons with Mr Wonka were nothing like lessons with Mrs Clarkson, for one thing Mrs Clarkson held hers in a classroom and Mr Wonka chose a different venue each time. Last time Charlie had learnt the number of sides of different shapes by picking them out in stars. Mr Wonka did not set homework either, which was a relief, in fact, he sometimes forgot they were having a lesson at all and would become distracted halfway through by a new idea or the need to experiment with a bubbling pot of something. This also meant that maths lessons often became combined with factory lessons leaving Charlie with a very sweet taste at the end of the day. His new found confidence in his work had also won him something very precious, a friend. Terry Tidswell was the top of the maths class; he always got 10/10 and was loaded with more gold stars after each lesson than most of the children would see in a year. He was a quiet, freckly boy who was smaller than most of the other children in his year, including Charlie. One day in the playground Charlie had smiled at him and he had smiled back. After that they sat together in almost every lesson.

Charlie was on the way home, his head full of his teacher's kind remarks, when he accidentally walked straight into someone. He had been so wrapped up in his own world; he had not been looking where he was going!

"Oh, I'm sorry!" he said quickly. The woman he had walked into had leapt backwards and was looking at him from beneath a pink hat which cast a shadow over her face. Charlie suddenly realised that they were outside the factory gates. Had the woman been looking at the factory?

"Sorry," she muttered in a small voice and she hurried off without looking back. Charlie wanted to call after her and tell her it was alright, she was allowed to stay and smell the air if she wanted but she rushed off so quickly he didn't have a chance.

Rose only allowed herself to stop and look back when she was sure she was far enough away to be out of danger. Her heart was thundering inside her ribcage. She tried to tell herself that he was just a child and that he had not meant to walk into her, but she still felt jumpy. She almost forgot her fear however when she saw the great gates of the Chocolate Factory swing open silently and admit the small boy she had only a few moments ago spoken to. Her jaw fell open. _Could he be….?_ The gates were swinging shut and he had disappeared from view. He had to be! It was Charlie Bucket, the fifth Golden ticket winner, the one who won. Maybe he had bumped into her on purpose! No, thought Rose rationally, she had not known him and he had not known her. It was accident, and he had been so sweet about it too. Rose felt a sudden stab of sympathy. What was a kind hearted boy like that doing with a bully like Mr Wonka? Rose simply could not bear the thought of an innocent little boy being turned into a monster. She turned away from Wonka's chocolate factory, the bane of her life, and headed back home.

The pink truck had not even needed to turn up on Thursday, no one had ordered anything. Rose had spent the whole day staring out of the kitchen staring out of the window hoping it would come anyway; hoping for a last minute order that she knew would never come. It was official; Wonka had stolen all of her business. No one even remembered who she was any more! Rose felt a wave of desolation sweep over her. She did not know what to do or where to turn. Her feet carried her on auto pilot down the overgrown garden path when suddenly she became aware that she was not alone. Looking up sharply she saw that there was a man on her doorstep, a man she recognised.

"Good afternoon Miss Wilson, I take it you remember me." Mr Slugworth extended his hand. Rose experienced a moment of panic. Mr Slugworth was between her and the front door of her house, her refuge. She was trapped. She could run into the unknown or she could embrace it.

"Mr Slugworth," she said in a timid voice and she took his hand.

Charlie bounded into the Bucket house; he was waving his latest maths test score in the air.

"Oh Charlie," beamed Mrs Bucket, "I'm so proud of you!" Charlie grinned around at his family, minus his father who was still working in the toothpaste factory. Grandpa Joe was smiling hardest of all, he seemed to be particularly glad that Mr Wonka had taken such an active interest in Charlie's education. Charlie's mother and father had been more dubious but since Charlie had been getting such good marks they could hardly complain.

"I'm going to tell Mr Wonka!" said Charlie and he hurtled off almost knocking Mrs Bucket right off her feet. He flew through the corridors without thinking; he knew where Mr Wonka would be, right where he had left him this morning. He arrived at the Inventing room and threw open the door. The moment he did so thick grey smoke poured out causing Charlie to cough. He tried to see into the dense cloud but it was impossible. What had happened? Where was Mr Wonka? He was preparing to head straight into the room, his arm over his face when someone spoke behind him.

"I wouldn't go in there Charlie, can't you see the smoke?" Charlie could have wept with relief.

"Mr Wonka! I thought…I thought you were…" Mr Wonka waited patiently for him to finish apparently completely unaware of what Charlie was trying to say. "I thought you might still be in there." Wonka looked curiously at Charlie, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Why would I be in there?" he asked airily, "Oh, and don't worry…" He had sensed Charlie's next question. "The Oompa Loompas will sort out that little mess. What's that?" He had spotted Charlie's test paper. Charlie had forgotten all about it.

"It's a maths test I did today," he said, his sense of pride returning in full force.

"Oh well, you can't be good at everything, do you want…"

"I was second in the class." Mr Wonka fell silent and then one of elusive smiles lit up his face.

"Oh Charlie, I knew that you could do it," he said quietly, but Charlie was quick to disagree.

"I didn't do anything!" he protested, "You were the one who taught me." Wonka shook his head.

"Who was sitting in that classroom answering those questions?"

"I was, but…"

"Ah!" said Wonka and then he smiled shyly, "I have a surprise for you Charlie."

"For me?" Charlie got the distinct impression that Wonka had completely forgotten about the maths paper.

"Yes, for Charlie, for you, you, you." He pulled from his pocket a small, black box. Charlie took it carefully.

"Well go on, Charlie, open it!" Wonka seemed to be more excited than Charlie felt which was saying something. Charlie grinned and prised the box open. The top flipped up and revealed something Charlie recognised at once, resting on red silk. Mr Wonka waited for Charlie's response; he waited and waited until finally he couldn't take it any more.

"Don't you know what it is Charlie?" Charlie looked up at him, more than a little apprehension on his face.

"It's gum," he said. Of course Charlie would know! Wonka smiled but the smile faded when Charlie did not smile back.

"Mr Wonka? Is this the gum you have been inventing? The one which is like having a whole three course meal?" Wonka nodded enthusiastically but still Charlie looked uneasy.

"It's finally finished," Wonka explained, "And I thought you'd like to try the perfected version first." Charlie swallowed.

"Mr Wonka, how do you know if it's perfected if no one else has tried it?" Mr Wonka's face fell slightly. He frowned.

"I know it's perfect," he said finally, "I just know it." This may have satisfied Mr Wonka's qualms but Charlie had a vivid mental picture of himself blowing up like a blueberry when he reached the dessert. He did not think he wanted to know what it felt like to be juiced. But there Wonka was, his face full of expectation and belief. Charlie knew he could not let him down. Cautiously he removed the stick of gum from its silk lined box, took a deep breath and then popped it into his mouth. Immediately he felt hot, tomato soup running down his throat. He could not help but show his amazement, Violet had been right. It was beautiful, it was perfect! Mr Wonka looked positively giddy with delight at Charlie's evident enjoyment.

"It's delicious!" Charlie gasped. The main course had started. It was just like eating a real home cooked meal, it was incredible. But Charlie's enjoyment started to fade, he knew what was coming. Sure enough the taste of roast beef had no sooner faded away when it was replaced with the sweet taste of blueberry pie. Charlie carried on chewing but what he really wanted to do was spit the gum out and be done with it. Mr Wonka was watching him intently though and he knew that should he attempt to end the experience he would only offend him. He tried not to think about his face turning blue, or what it would feel like to fill up with juice. He presumed that if anything started happening to him Mr Wonka would inform him at once and as Wonka was still looking nothing short of thrilled, Charlie tried to relax and enjoy the dessert. When the flavour of the blueberry pie and cream finally came to an end Charlie felt a great deal of relief. Wonka was bouncing slightly in his eagerness to hear Charlie's thoughts on his latest and greatest invention.

"It's unbelievable, Mr Wonka," said Charlie when he was quite sure he was not about to turn into any kind of fruit.

"Oh," said Wonka and he looked distinctly puzzled, "Which part?" Charlie did not understand for a moment and then he realised…

"Oh no! I didn't mean it was unrealistic," he hurriedly corrected, "I meant it was a feeling like no other."

"Oh," said Wonka again and he looked a little more pleased this time.

"It'll change the world, Mr Wonka," said Charlie seriously. Mr Wonka smiled in that curious way of his and then stood up apparently bored with the gum and gave an inexplicable nervous giggle.

"I…er…it's…" He started, stopped and started again maybe twenty times before Charlie decided it was kinder to intervene. Usually Charlie would not interrupt an adult but Mr Wonka did appear to be in considerable distress.

"Did you want to ask me something?" Charlie asked.

"Er…" Mr Wonka gave a sort of reluctant half-smile and then looked at the floor. Charlie did some quick thinking. It was Friday today, which meant the weekend was almost upon them. Usually Mr Wonka was overjoyed at the prospect of a weekend because it meant Charlie would be home all day, so what was different this weekend? And then Charlie remembered. Mr Wonka had begun to twitch slightly and his jaw was set tight like it always was when he was thinking about a certain person.

"Is it this Sunday that you agreed to visit your father?" Charlie need not have asked really, he already knew. Wonka shuddered and then nodded. Charlie did not really understand how he was feeling, he had always shown and been shown absolute love from every member of his family. There were no barriers with the Buckets. Charlie had thought that by accompanying Mr Wonka to see his father after all those years he would help break down the barriers in that family too but it seemed things were not so simple. Wilbur Wonka, the renowned dentist, had flatly refused to visit his son's factory insisting that even being near so much chocolate was bad for teeth. Charlie had seen Willy Wonka's face fall, if he had not interrupted he was sure his Mr Wonka would have walked right out of his father's life again. Charlie had hastily suggested that they meet up again in Wilbur's house one Sunday and a date had been set, and in truth Charlie had forgotten all about it, so many other exciting things had happened afterwards. He was glad, in a way, that Wonka had remembered his commitment to his father although seeing him now was causing Charlie quite a considerable amount of pain. It certainly appeared that the past was not something either member of the Wonka family could forget in a hurry.

"It's not that I…but…I'm…" Wonka stumbled over his words again, his face turning a faint greenish colour. He looked like he might be sick any moment.

"I'll come with you again," said Charlie quickly. Wonka swallowed and tried to smile but it didn't really work.

"I think I know what you need," said Charlie and he reached over to one of the lollipop trees and pulled off two. He handed one to Mr Wonka who took it with a timid look of gratitude. For several minutes they ate in silence and then Wonka spoke, in a voice exactly like his father's.

"These things are bad for your teeth and you couldn't eat it anyway because of your braces." He gave another nervy little laugh and then relaxed.

"Do you know what I hate most in the entire world, Charlie? Even more than people stealing my wonderful ideas and turning them into ideas of their own?" he asked in his usual voice.

"No," said Charlie without allowing himself time to think. Wonka looked out across the chocolate river and sighed.

"Braces."

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A/N: A great big thank you to everyone for their kind comments and fun reviews! Because of you I am up in the early hours of the morning posting this instead of going to bed. I hope you enjoyed it.


	9. Without an appointment

A/N: Good morning/afternoon/evening chocoholics!

It's getting colder and nights are drawing in, anyone would think it was autumn or something :P Enjoy the chapter!

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_Chapter 8: Without an appointment _

To say that Mr Wonka was a nervous wreck on Sunday morning would have been putting it mildly. Charlie simply did not understand it, he had not been this bad when they had gone to see his father the first time! When he gently pointed this out Mr Wonka took a deep breath and then said, very fast, "But this time I know he will recognise me. This time I can't just pretend to be someone else and run away. This time…" But at the third 'this time' he trailed away either unable to finish the thought or unable to think of anything to finish it with. Charlie shouted out a warning but too late, Mr Wonka had walked straight into the closed door of the glass elevator. He picked himself up from the floor muttered something like 'don't remember putting that there' under his breath and then pressed the button to open the door. Charlie stepped in after him and the door closed behind them. He waited for Wonka to press the right button. He waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

"Er…Mr Wonka? Shall I pr…?"

"We could go anywhere Charlie, we don't have to go_ there _because we could go anywhere." He was trying to convince himself as much as convince Charlie. The 'Up and Out' button had never been more unappealing, and that was saying a lot. He reached out and hovered over one button but something was holding him back, preventing him from actually pressing it.

"Mr Wonka, you told your dad you would visit," said Charlie very quietly. Wonka pouted.

"I also said that I would travel the world, and I didn't, Charlie. I didn't go anywhere!" He forgot that he had not informed Charlie of the whole story of his childhood, in fact he had told the child precious little at all.

"But you did Mr Wonka, you went to Loompaland."

"Where? Oh! Yes, well, that was later and you're not to mention that name again, kay?" Charlie agreed with a nod. "Now where was I? Sheep! How about we visit the sheep? I haven't seen them for a while and they're probably…" Charlie was looking at him. No, looking wasn't the right word. He was _pleading_ with him, and gosh darn it, he was good at it. Despite the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Wonka very reluctantly pressed the dreaded 'Up and Out' button then he closed his eyes; he could already tell he would not be enjoying this journey.

"Mr Wonka, we're here." Wonka did not want to open his eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Charlie without hesitation, "And we haven't got the wrong house." How had he known that would be his next question! Wonka opened his eyes to look at Charlie and try and figure out the answer to this question but the moment he did so he caught sight of the lone house that had once fitted perfectly in with a long row of identical houses. The elevator door slid open.

"Are you sure we made an appointment Charlie? Because he always used to get mad when…"

"You're his son, Mr Wonka. You don't need an appointment." They trod through the thick snow to get to the house, Wonka squeaking his purple gloves all the way. Charlie turned and smiled at him, a clear effort to let him know everything was alright but Wonka was not to be consoled. All he wanted to do was run back to the safety of his glass elevator; the only thing stopping him was the uncomfortable problem of finding it again. Charlie was much better at doing that than he was and Charlie had already walked straight up the icy steps.

"Charlie?" Wonka whispered urgently. Charlie turned, his hand mere inches from the doorbell.

"Do you think we should…?" But Charlie did not listen to the rest. He pressed the doorbell firmly so that the noise of it rang out. Wonka shut his mouth with a snap and attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to hide himself by positioning himself behind Charlie. As the door opened Charlie distinctly heard him draw in a sharp breath.

Rose had walked up the same street four times now. At the end of it was the place she was supposed to get to but every time she got near to it she turned right round and hurried away. She took a few deep breaths of the cold air but all it did was freeze her insides. For the fourth time she considered running back home but then she thought of the conversation she had had with Mr Slugworth. She had agreed to meet him at his factory, check out his premises and see if they would be suitable for what they had planned. It had been terrifying just talking to him, yet she had managed that. All she had to do was walk up to the factory, that was all. Nothing bad was going to happen. That was right, wasn't it? Crippling nerves made Rose gasp for breath. She looked around. There was no one nearby, no one was watching her. She took a step forward towards Slugworth's factory. That's it, you can do it. Keep going. She took another step, and another. She would do it this time. She got within ten metres of the factory gates and suddenly lost her nerve. She turned, ready to high tail it out of there when something caught her eye. Flapping about on the ground was something orange and black, a chocolate bar wrapper…a Wonka wrapper. It was like a steel band wrapping around her heart, the sight of that one empty wrapper and all it stood for stiffened Rose's resolve and pushed her those few extra steps. The next moment, before she had even fully realised what she was doing, Rose was knocking at the factory door.

Wilbur Wonka appeared, dressed in his white coat just as he had been last time. Charlie wondered if he ever took it off. There was a second of frosty (quite literally, Charlie was sure it was colder here than it had been outside the factory) silence and then Wilbur said stiffly, "Hello Willy." Wonka gave a little strangled cry and then said, in an almost normal voice, "Hello…Dad." Wilbur took a step backwards which Charlie took as an invitation to enter. It was only when they were inside the house that Charlie noticed Wonka was wearing a rather large pair of black sunglasses which he did not seem in any hurry to remove. Wilbur was looking at them rather distastefully and before Charlie could interject his voice had cut through the hallway.

"Don't you know it's winter, son?" Wonka froze. He looked like he was trying to find a way out of an invisible trap.

"It certainly is cold out," said Charlie loudly as he removed his coat and hooked it over the banister. He immediately wished he had kept his coat on; it seemed to be just as cold inside the house as out. Wonka shot Charlie a grateful look and then, very slowly, removed his sunglasses. His eyes seemed even brighter than usual, but perhaps that was because everything in Wilbur Wonka's house seemed to be so dull. Coatless and glasses less, Charlie and Wonka followed Wonka senior into what was supposed to be the living room only it did not feel very lived in at all. Just like in the converted dentist's practise room, this one was plastered with articles on Wonka's chocolate factory. Charlie saw Wonka's eyes travel over them, skimming over the bold titles and the black and white photographs. Wilbur was watching too and when Wonka noticed he smiled uneasily and then shut his mouth completely.

"It is nice of you to come," said Wilbur in the same stiff voice he had used to welcome them. Wonka unhelpfully looked at Charlie.

"It's a pleasure." Charlie tried to smile but with Wilbur looking so sternly at him he did not seem to be able to do so naturally and he was afraid that the final result looked rather forced. Wilbur's eyes lingered all too obviously on Charlie's teeth and then he looked back at his son.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Er…" Charlie looked meaningfully at him and he must have caught the silent message because he said, "Kay." As soon as Wilbur had gone Wonka began to shiver. His eyes returned once more to the articles on the walls, some of which were yellow and curling with age. A dozen emotions were competing for dominance inside him, and the result was yet more shivering.

"Perhaps I could ask him to turn on the heating," said Charlie. Wonka jumped. He had forgotten Charlie was still in the room.

"He told me he'd be gone if I left." Wonka giggled mirthlessly. Just then Wilbur returned and all trace of emotion save for dread disappeared from Wonka's face. Wilbur passed them both glasses of water but neither of them drank. Charlie was watching Wonka in concern, he did not like the way the glass in his gloved hand was shaking.

"Charlie Bucket." Charlie was startled by the sound of his name. He turned his head at once.

"Yes, Mr Wonka?" His Mr Wonka blinked and looked a little hurt. Wilbur did not notice.

"Have your parents considered booking you an appointment with a dentist? I think you could do with a good set of braces." He had barely finished the word when the glass Wonka had been holding moments before fell to the floor and smashed despite on the threadbare carpet.

"Ah, Miss Wilson, I have been expecting you." Rose tried to force her lips to smile. She did not even notice Mr Slugworth's outstretched, waiting hand until he had withdrawn it. She suddenly seemed very warm in her overlarge coat. She thought about taking it off but then decided she felt safer with it on.

"Please follow me," said Mr Slugworth and Rose did just that. The factory appeared to be empty. It was tiny compared to Mr Wonka's gargantuan atrocity but it was still big to Rose whose kitchen was the only 'factory' she had ever needed.

"I thought you might be able to make use of this room in particular." Mr Slugworth pushed open a heavy looking door and held it open for Rose to walk through. She may never have seen fudge made on an industrial scale before, let alone attempt it for herself, but she knew enough about the process to be sure that this was where it happened in this factory. Only at the moment the room was completely bare, just a steel skeleton. Rose tried to imagine what it would be like with that ever comforting smell of fudge, maybe she could learn to like it a little…maybe.

"So, Miss Wilson, are you interested?" Mr Slugworth was looking coldly thrilled. There was a gleam of something in his eye that frightened Rose; she located the nearest exit just in case.

"I will provide all the assistants you need, and the ingredients, I will provide everything you ask for and you need not hand over your special recipe if…"

"Of course I won't!" Rose's vehemence surprised even herself. She almost plastered a hand over her mouth but the tiny part of her that possessed her mother's strength told her not to. Mr Slugworth smiled thinly.

"I think you could feel very comfortable here," he said as if she had not said a word, "Together we have the power to turn the tide on Wonka." He said the name with such venom that Rose felt briefly joined with him in mutual hatred, the feeling both scared and excited her; she was not used to hate.

"Ok," she said, "Ok, I'll do it."

The smashing of the glass incident had shattered any semblance of a cordial atmosphere. Charlie had rushed to clear up, just as Wilbur had looked about to shout at his son for his stupidity. Wonka had completely frozen, his lilac eyes staring fixedly at the floor. Ten minutes later and things were not much better.

"I had to treat a child yesterday. Three fillings." Wilbur paused presumably to give his story emphasis. "You know what he told me when he had finished crying?" Charlie did not like where this little tale was going.

"He told me he would never eat another Wonka bar again." Wonka's jaw tightened again, and he began to clench and unclench his fist agitatedly so that the plastic squeaked in protest. When Wilbur began doing the same thing Wonka junior stopped at once.

"I have heard that some manufacturers have started making sugar free candy," said Wilbur.

"I do that!" said Wonka his voice full of excited relief. He looked up at his father and almost smiled, perhaps he would have done had Wilbur chosen not to continue.

"I will never condone sugar free candy, not only does it encourage bad habits but hard candy can still break teeth and the action of chewing itself can lead to rapid degeneration of the…"

"You know what else I make? Whips, strawberry ones." Both Charlie and Wilbur Wonka stared at Willy Wonka, one wore an expression of anxiety, the other looked like he had seen his worst suspicions confirmed. Wonka looked between both of them; an empty smile on his face, then that faded and was replaced by a look of anguish which changed again when he giggled apparently for no reason at all.

"Willy?" Wonka flinched at the sound of his name and looked warily at his father. "What are you doing?" Wonka blinked, a look of incomprehension on his face. _What was he doing? Right now?_ _Nothing_, or so he thought. When no answer came from his son Wilbur turned to Charlie.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"Sorry, Mr Wonka? I don't…."

"Will you just call him Dad, like I do?" said Wonka almost petulantly. Wilbur stood up and loomed over Charlie.

"I asked you what was going on? I demand an answer!" For the first time Charlie felt the beginnings of fear; Wonka was looking at his father as if he was an impressive and slightly intimidating stranger and Wilbur looked about ready to explode and there Charlie was, right bang smack in the middle.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Mr Wonka," said Charlie ignoring his Wonka's little squeak of protest.

"Don't play dumb with me Charlie Bucket!" He pointed aggressively at his son. "Why is he acting this way? He did not act this way the last time we met."

"You did not insult him the last time we met," pointed out Charlie softly. _Not until the end anyway._ Wilbur seemed to grow at least a foot more. Wonka had stopped looking awed, now he just looked downright terrified.

"If you think you're being funny, boy! I demand to know why my son is acting like a mad man. No son of mine is a mad man!"

"No son of mine will be a chocolatier." Wilbur whirled around. He had heard his own voice coming from behind him, reflecting his exact thoughts. His son looked like he was reliving something. Suddenly those startling eyes met his and Wilbur actually found himself taking a step backwards. Wonka was smiling again, but it was a tight lipped smile, the kind which means the opposite of a true smile.

"Did you just shout at Charlie?" This was not what Wilbur had expected his son to say and by the look on Charlie's face he had not expected it either.

"Did he shout at you, Charlie?" Wonka addressed the little boy who looked torn between the two answers.

"He didn't mean to," was the answer he settled on. Very diplomatic, thought Wilbur. He thought he might even grow to like Charlie. But Wonka was on his feet now, and he looked oddly impressive, like a dream come to life.

"You may never shout at Charlie," he said quite calmly, "I will not allow it…kay?" He gave this last word a little flick which sent it rocketing into Wilbur's brain.

"Is that ok?" corrected Wilbur.

"Kay?" mocked Wonka with a child like smile on his pale face. For the first time since he had arrived he actually looked like he was enjoying himself. Charlie snorted with suppressed laughter and this delighted Wonka yet further. Wonka senior, on the other hand, was not the least bit amused.

"I do not know why you came here today," said Wilbur unkindly, "Unless it was to prove that you are completely beyond help." Wonka faltered, his eyes flicked to Charlie who gave him the tiniest thumbs up.

"I don't know why I…" He started well, thought Charlie, but something had gone wrong. He had caught sight of something, something which had driven all thought from his mind. Wonka's jaw fell open. Nailed to the wall, alongside all the newspaper articles, was an exact replica of the braces he had been forced to wear as a child. He did not remember a single thing from that moment on.

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A/N: This author starts university on Saturday so updates are likely to suffer as a result. I don't know how long it will take to set up my computer, get settled in and organised etc. so I apologise in advance if I can't update in a timely manner.

Thank you to everyone who has been reading so far, and for feedback you have given me :) Keep letting me know what you think, kay?


	10. He was gone

A/N: Hi there chocoholics! I got my internet up and running at uni now so I thought this should be one of my first ports of call ;-). Enjoy!

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__Chapter 9: He was gone _

When Wonka came to, for want of a better phrase, he was in the factory with a very anxious Charlie. He scanned back to find his last memory but no sooner had he remembered it than he felt a great wave of illness consume him.

"Mr Wonka, I'm going to get my parents." This had an even worse effect on Wonka so Charlie quickly said, "I'm going to get Grandpa Joe!"

"Kay," said Wonka weakly and he promptly collapsed against the closed glass elevator door. Charlie took one last look at him and then tore off down the corridor as fast his legs would carry him. When he reached his little house in the middle of the Chocolate room he burst through the door and almost crashed headlong into his mother.

"Charlie!" she cried, "What on earth?" But Charlie had no time or breath to explain. He looked around wildly for Grandpa Joe.

"Charlie," said his mother again, "Has something happened? Is something wrong?"

"It's Mr Wonka," gasped Charlie when he could not see his grandpa, "He…" It was hard to put what had happened into words, he decided to borrow a phrase he had heard his Grandma Josephine use. "He's had a funny turn!"

"Oh," said Mrs Bucket and she looked quite alarmed, "When did this happen?" But Charlie had no time to explain, he had to get back to Mr Wonka, he had to help him.

"I need Grandpa Joe, where is he?"

"It's alright Charlie," said Mrs Bucket calmly, "Just sit down and…"

"No!" Charlie was not normally this rude but desperate times call for desperate measures. "I need to find Grandpa Joe now!" Mrs Bucket was beginning to get a measure of the seriousness of the situation now; she put down her oven gloves and took off her apron.

"Ok Charlie, I'll come with you," she said. She thought she was being nice, of course, but Charlie looked horrified at the thought.

"No mum, you can't," he said, "It has to be Grandpa Joe." Charlie was not sure what Wonka would do if he saw Mr or Mrs Bucket but he was certain it would not help matters in the slightest.

"What's all this Charlie?" Charlie could have wept with relief. The door to the Bucket residence had opened and Grandpa Joe had stepped in. There was not a moment to lose. Charlie grabbed his grandpa's hand in his own woolly gloved one and began pulling him out of the house.

"Charlie, what in the world…?"

"We've got to get to Mr Wonka, grandpa. He's…we went to visit his father today and…" Grandpa Joe suddenly looked very serious.

"Say no more Charlie," he said, "Let's go!"

Rose had not slept at all for two nights now. The thought of getting up and going to Mr Slugworth's factory was keeping her awake. If only she could do all the work alone, then she would not be so frightened but Mr Slugworth was sending some of his workers down from other parts of the factory to help her. He said he would be there himself if she needed him. Rose did not think she needed him at all, not to make fudge anyway. Her part of the plan was easy, making fudge was all she knew and that is what she had to do. No experimental flavours, Mr Slugworth had said, just the favourites everybody loved. She could do that, oh yes, she could. But what was Mr Slugworth going to do? Apart from lending her the use of his premises, of course. She had asked him, but he had been very vague; something about creative license and a bit of good natured fun, although he did not look the type to engage in anything of a good nature. Something about the whole situation was snagging at Rose's conscience but she had said she would do it and there was no backing out now. Besides, she tried to reason, Wonka was attempting to put her out of business. Surely nothing that Mr Slugworth had in mind could be worse than that. She rolled over and reached for her large toy rabbit, the one she had been given as a very little girl. She held it very close and took a deep breath. It smelled of everything that was comforting in Rose's world; fresh laundry, lightly perfumed flowers, vanilla fudge and, of course, her mother. She closed her eyes and hugged the rabbit very tightly. Everything was going to be ok.

"What exactly happened Charlie?" asked Grandpa Joe as they hurried down corridor after corridor. Charlie was nursing a stitch in his side but dared not slow down.

"I don't know," he replied honestly, "One moment Mr Wonka was facing his father, and then he saw something on the opposite wall that made him…I thought he was going to collapse, grandpa. His father thought so too because he reached out to grab him but Mr Wonka backed away so fast he knocked a table over. He looked so ill, grandpa. I thought maybe some fresh air would do him good so I tried to get him outside but he wouldn't move. Then he said something in exactly the same voice as his father, exactly the same."

"What did he say Charlie? This might be important."

"He said, 'I won't be here.'"

"What did Wonka senior do?" Charlie knew they were getting close; he picked up the pace a little more.

"He told me to get Mr Wonka out. He had gone all pale, just like Mr Wonka and he might have been shaking." They rounded the corner but Wonka was nowhere to be seen.

"I left him right here, grandpa," said Charlie, "Right here!"

"Don't worry Charlie. We'll find him, he can't have gone far." Neither Grandpa Joe nor Charlie really believed that last part but it was a nice sort of delusion.

"Mr Wonka!" called Charlie.

"Mr Wonka!" called Grandpa Joe.

"But I might not be allergic, I might not…," said a very familiar, slightly muffled voice from close by. Charlie pushed open a door marked 'Dark room'. It wasn't kidding. Charlie could see absolutely nothing; the room was pitch black, not even the light from the corridor seemed to be penetrating it. He took one look at Grandpa Joe and then plunged in.

"Mr Wonka, where are you?" Silence and then, quite suddenly, there was a click and the room of a dull red light. Charlie squinted through it until he saw the person he was looking for. Mr Wonka was sitting in the corner of the room, the cord for the light still in his hand. He let it go and it hung limply beside him. The room was full of what looked like black photography strips all dangling from the ceiling like fly paper. Charlie looked back at Grandpa Joe who had followed him into the room. Neither of them knew what to do next.

"Mr Wonka, perhaps you would like to lie down somewhere," suggested Grandpa Joe. Wonka did not even look up. Grandpa Joe shrugged. Charlie crossed the room, careful to avoid touching anything just in case it was fragile or dangerous. He reached the corner and sat down beside Mr Wonka, his back against the wall. They remained silent for some time, Grandpa Joe chose to slip out of the room and leave them to it though he remained outside the door, just in case. He was sure that if anyone could make Wonka feel better it was Charlie.

"Charlie?"

"Yes, Mr Wonka?"

"I'm sorry." Wonka knew he had failed, he wasn't even sure he really tried. Just being back in his father's house freaked him out, and then there were all those articles everywhere, what was he supposed to think about those! But above all he was the same man, the same father who had burnt his dreams and then disappeared. He still remembered standing on that wind blown street staring at the house that wasn't there. He still remembered what it felt like to be completely and utterly alone.

"No Mr Wonka, I'm sorry."

"What?" Wonka looked at Charlie and saw that he looked almost as miserable as he felt. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because I didn't listen to you," said Charlie solemnly, "You didn't want to go and see your father, and I didn't understand why." He paused and then added, "He does love you, Mr Wonka."

"Yeah, right." Wilbur Wonka loved teeth and gums and flossing and mouthwash, he didn't love the son who had chosen to defy him. He couldn't love a chocolatier.

"He does, Mr Wonka. He just doesn't know how to show it." Charlie wasn't going to give in, apparently. Next he would be suggesting that they get back in the glass elevator and try again.

"I don't think he would want you to give up on him, Mr Wonka."

"He gave up on me!" said Wonka passionately, "I was only gone for one day!" Charlie was frowning.

"Gone?" he asked. _Oh dear._ Wonka wondered if he should say anything, but decided that as Charlie was his heir, he should probably tell him everything…well, most things anyway.

"I ran away once." Charlie gasped, but quietly. Mr Wonka wondered whether he had ever thought of running away from his family when cold and poverty was all he had known; of course he hadn't, because they loved him and he loved them. Wonka gave a little laugh that sounded false even to him.

"I told my father I was going to travel the world because he wouldn't let me follow my dreams. He warned me, he told me he wouldn't be there when I got back but…I didn't listen to him." He had begun to shiver, ridiculous as it wasn't the least bit cold. Oompa Loompas hated cold, he knew that. What was he saying? Oh yeah. "I was only away for one day, not even the whole day just part of it but…"

"He was gone," finished Charlie. He sounded horrified and Wonka decided he had given the poor boy enough truth for one day.

"Wouldn't you do the same thing, Charlie? Wouldn't you run away?" Charlie thought about this but the idea that his parents would object to something that he was passionate about was too big of an obstacle to overcome.

"I don't know," he said at last. Wonka had to admit he was mildly surprised, he had been expecting a resounding 'no'. He stood up.

"Well Charlie, I do feel much better now." Charlie's relief was easy to see. "Would you like to know what I use this room for?" What child in their right mind would say no to that?

Rose found herself unable to relax for a second. Apart from the smell of the fudge being made, there was nothing about the circumstances she was enjoying. Everyone kept staring at her, so she spent most of the time with her eyes downcast. When they came up to ask her questions she would answer in the shortest number of words possible and hope that they would go away. Mr Slugworth had appeared somewhere near three o'clock in the afternoon but if he had said anything Rose could not remember, she had been concentrating so hard on being invisible. They were following her instructions to the letter though, and by the end of the day Rose's spirits were beginning to lift slightly. Her part of the plan was going perfectly. She wondered when Mr Slugworth would perform his end of the deal. The answer came in the form of a news headline the very next day.

Charlie had told Grandpa Joe everything Mr Wonka had told him about his childhood. They had stayed up talking until very late, something Charlie's mother would never have allowed had she caught them whispering together.

"I really thought everything would be alright, grandpa," said Charlie, "I thought they would get on much better after the first time. Wilbur Wonka seemed so glad to see his son at last."

"Sometimes Charlie, adults find it hard to express their feelings in the right way," said Grandpa Joe, "I'm sure Wilbur Wonka does love his son very much, but it has been such a very long time."

"What about Mr Wonka? Do you think he loves his father?" asked Charlie.

"Of course I do, Charlie. But what his father did was a terrible thing, to leave him like that. I think Willy Wonka forgot about his father for a long time, because remembering broke his heart. These wounds take time to heal, Charlie. It doesn't happen overnight." And with these wise words still fresh in his mind Charlie lay back against his marshmallow pillow and fell asleep. He woke some time later to the sound of voices, low voices that he was sure he wasn't supposed to hear.

"Front page, it couldn't be any worse."

"Of course it could. It's only two children, and they're going to be alright."

"But they almost weren't, Pops."

"Oh, please don't talk like that."

"Sorry, dear."

"But has Mr Wonka seen?"

"Sssh! Charlie might hear!" But Charlie _had_ heard. He sat up very slowly so the mattress did not squeak and he stood very carefully so that the floorboards did not creak. Ever so gradually he tip toed closer to where his parents and grandparents were conducting their secret conversation because he knew that the moment one of them saw or heard him they would all stop talking and pretend that nothing was wrong. They had done the very same thing when Charlie's father had lost his job at the toothpaste factory. If Charlie leant over slightly he could see the tops of several heads, one of which had a large shiny bald patch; Grandpa Joe! In his hands was a newspaper, he was looking at the first page. Whatever was written there had got Grandma Georgina and Grandpa George out of bed too, Charlie could just about see them craning to see over Grandpa Joe's shoulder. What on earth could it be? He must have leaned over a little too far because suddenly there was a loud creak of straining wood and everyone looked up.

"Oh hello Charlie!" said Mrs Bucket with a bright, false grin as Mr Bucket snatched up the newspaper and disappeared with it. "Would you like some breakfast?"

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A/N: I'll be starting lectures and stuff next week so you might have to bear with me if updates are slow...on the other hand I might need some escapism:)

If you enjoyed the chapter, tell me, if you didn't, tell me! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter...you guys are stars!


	11. Chocolate Horror

A/N: You all wanted to know what the headline was, so here you go!

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_Chapter 10: Chocolate horror _

Mr Willy Wonka did not make a point of reading newspapers but he had a 'Reading room' where several dedicated Oompa Loompas scoured every single newspaper, every single day for any mention of his chocolate factory. All the articles were collected and filed but anything of particular interest was shown to Mr Wonka at once. This particular morning three Oompa Loompas approached Mr Wonka before he had even got dressed. He faced them in his resplendent gold and black dressing gown with a friendly smile because he was sure this was going to be a good day, a brilliant day, a marvellous day!

"Good morning!" he said cheerfully recognising them as his workers from the 'Reading room' from the newspaper ink on their hands. All three of them bobbed politely and then one stepped forwards holding out a newspaper.

"Oh, how wonderful!" said Mr Wonka as he took the paper, "I just knew it was going to be a good…" He stopped. There was a picture of his factory on the front page, but for once he would rather it had been placed somewhere in the middle, or at the back, or left out all together because this was no story about how wonderful the place was, how fantastically sales were doing or how mysterious he was…oh no, it was far worse than that.

**Chocolate Horror!**

_Yesterday afternoon two children, aged 9 and 10, were admitted to hospital complaining of serious headaches, stomach aches and loss of vision. Doctors battled to save them but were at a loss to explain their condition until one of them asked what the children had last eaten. Both children said exactly the same thing; the last thing they had eaten was a bar of Wonka's FudgeMallow Delight. It seems that Mr Wonka's notoriously secret recipes are actually putting the nation's children at risk…._

Wonka's mouth had gone very dry. He tried to read the rest of the article but his eyes did not seem to be able to get past the last line of the first paragraph_. Putting children at risk?_ When he spoke his voice was oddly hollow.

"I want every single FudgeMallow Delight bar withdrawn." One of the Oompa Loompas formed a cross with his arms against his chest, the sign of accord, and hurried away. The other two remained behind, looking up at the pale form of their employer with unmistakeably worried expressions on their faces.

"Was this the only…?" But Wonka did not even get to finish the question. The two Oompa Loompas produced half a dozen more newspapers, each with variations on the same headline.

"We are going through the foreign news right now." Wonka felt curiously empty.

"Good," he said automatically, "I want every single mention of this to come to me as soon as it's printed." Both Oompa Loompas nodded and left the room. Wonka sunk limply onto the nearest chair and began to read once more.

Rose was surprised to hear her doorbell ring. She approached it timidly, her pink dressing gown pulled tightly around her.

"Miss Wilson?" A teenager was standing on her doorstep; he had a bag over his shoulder which looked to be filled with something. Rose wasn't sure she wanted to know what.

"Yes?" The boy reached into his bag which made Rose draw a sharp breath. He looked at her curiously and then pulled out a rolled up newspaper.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he held out the paper for her to take.

"Oh yes," said Rose quickly, "Um…I don't usually…"

"Someone else must have paid then," said the boy with a shrug, "You might as well take it. Interesting front page story, I know I won't be touching another Wonka bar." Rose stared at him and then almost snatched the paper out of his hands. He said goodbye but she ignored him; she was too busy unrolling the newspaper to read what it said.

_Officials have warned that whatever was in these two toxic bars of chocolate could be in any of Wonka's products and are advising stockists to pull the whole range of Wonka products from their shelves. _

_"It is always better to be safe than sorry," said sweet shop owner, Horace Slugworth, "I will not be buying any more Wonka products, and I am burning the ones I've got. I always knew Mr Wonka was doing some funny things, but I never imagined he would compromise the health of our beloved children!" _

Rose's heart was thumping against her chest so hard that she had to press her palm against it. Those poor children…but that was not what was really worrying Rose, after all it said that the children were recovering very well and would be at home within a few days. Oh no, what was really worrying her were the alarm bells going off in her head. What a coincidence that this should happen now, just when she and Mr Slugworth had been planning their revenge against Wonka's company and Wonka himself. What better way to bring him down than by discrediting his product. Rose dropped the paper on the floor and rushed to the bathroom. It was all too much for someone who just wanted to make fudge for a living.

Charlie made a decent attempt at eating breakfast. No one else was really speaking, but they cast meaningful looks at each other until Charlie could take it no longer. He put his half finished toast down and looked directly at Grandpa Joe.

"What's going on?" Grandpa Joe looked at Mr Bucket, Mr Bucket looked at Grandpa George, Grandpa George looked at Mrs Bucket who said, "Eat up Charlie! It's almost time for school."

"I'm not going," said Charlie. Every member of the Bucket family stared at him but Charlie was determined to get to the bottom of this. "I'm not going until someone tells me what is going on."

"Maybe we should…" began Grandpa Joe but Mrs Bucket cut him off.

"It's nothing to worry about, Charlie dear, just grown up stuff." She smiled and Charlie might have been convinced if Grandpa Joe had not looked so ill at ease. Charlie wondered what to do and then he thought of a very clever idea indeed.

"Alright then," he said and he got up from the table, "I'll just go and find Mr Wonka and then I'll…"

"No!" said Mr Bucket, Mrs Bucket, Grandpa George, Grandma Josephine and Grandma Georgina together. Charlie fought to keep a smile from his face.

"Alright Charlie," said Grandpa Joe ignoring the pleading looks he was being given from his daughter, "But you must not get too upset about this, it's probably just a misunderstanding." Charlie nodded and the newspaper he had seen his grandpa reading was produced. There was complete silence as he read, and for several long minutes afterwards.

"It can't be true, can it?" Charlie looked around at the sombre faces of his family. "Mr Wonka would never…it has to be a mistake!"

"Of course it's a mistake, Charlie," said Grandpa George, "But it's a pretty big one. What if those children had d…?"

"Dad," said Mr Bucket sharply and Grandpa George fell silent.

"I'm sure Mr Wonka is fixing the problem right now," said Grandma Georgina, "There's nothing to worry about, Charlie." Just then there was a knock at the door. Charlie leapt up off his chair and dashed forwards to open it convinced that it was going to be Mr Wonka himself. It wasn't, it was an Oompa Loompa.

"Mr Bucket." Quite a few of the heads in the room turned. "Mr Charlie Bucket," the Oompa Loompa said to make things clearer, "Mr Wonka requires your immediate presence in his private rooms." Charlie looked at his mother.

"But…look at the time," she said, "You'll be late for school."

"I think," said Grandpa Joe softly, "That just this one Charlie should be allowed off school."

"I agree," said Mr Bucket which caused Charlie to stare at him in amazement. The Oompa Loompa tapped his foot impatiently. Charlie took another look at his parents worried expressions and then stepped forwards.

"I'm sorry mum," he said but he did not have a choice, not in his mind anyway. He followed the Oompa Loompa to the glass elevator. He assumed the Oompa Loompa would be taking him, as he had never been to Mr Wonka's private rooms before but when Charlie turned round he saw that the Oompa Loompa had disappeared. It took quite a while to locate the right button but finally Charlie found it, at least he hoped he had. It was a button labelled 'WW' and he could not think of anything else it could be. He really had to stretch to reach it but finally he did and the elevator took off in its usual jerky, unpredictable fashion. Two minutes later and Charlie stepped out of the elevator and found himself standing in front of a large gold door with two enormous W's carved into it. Beside it was a doorbell. Charlie pressed it but instead of a noise the door began to open on its own. Charlie squeezed through the moment the gap was wide enough. He found himself in a foyer type room. There were several hat stands and even more hooks along the walls, on most hung different coats. Charlie noticed that there was a white coat hanging on one of the hooks, exactly like the white coat Wilbur Wonka wore. He did not have a coat to take off so after a quick scan of the room, which had him noticing a rather fetching turban, he walked on. The next door, also gold, was closed so Charlie raised his hand to knock but it was pulled open before he had even touched it.

"Charlie! Take your time, won't you?" Charlie apologised but he was old enough to know that sometimes grown ups say things they don't mean when they are upset, and by the looks of things Mr Wonka was definitely upset. He was jacket less, which was unusual in itself. Charlie could see it lying on the floor, a scarlet puddle of velvet. There were newspapers all over the room, covering most of the surfaces in what looked to be a surprisingly normal room. Charlie had to admit he had been expecting a little more than gold furnishings and a rather strange taste in furniture. Mr Wonka walked to the middle of these articles and Charlie saw that he had arranged them in such a way that he could turn in a circle and read them all. Charlie caught snatches of different headlines. It seemed everyone had heard of the two ill children. Charlie and Wonka looked at each other and Charlie understood several things at once; Wonka had no idea what could have caused the children to be ill, he was petrified and things might not be as alright as his family had tried to tell him.

"Mr Wonka?" Wonka raised his eyebrows. "Everything is going to be alright." Wonka's lips twitched.

"You think so Charlie?" Charlie nodded. "In that case," said Wonka with a small smile, "They will have to be." This little interaction had the effect Charlie had desired. Mr Wonka regained himself slightly and began to think rationally, or at least as rationally as he ever did.

"I have ordered the immediate withdrawal of all FudgeMallow Delight bars, and we are going to find out what is wrong with them, kay?" Charlie nodded again. Mr Wonka actually looked almost happy. That, it turned out, would not last long.

Rose felt so sick she had to call up Mr Slugworth and tell him she could not possibly turn up to the factory today. When he asked her as casually as could be whether she had read the paper her stomach gave such an almighty heave that she almost slammed the phone down and ran for the bathroom again.

"You don't think I had anything to do with that, do you?" Mr Slugworth asked, his voice full of startled innocence but Rose could not picture his face. She had never seen him wear anything other than a sneer, or a scowl. She tried hard to make herself believe him but she knew she couldn't.

"Isn't it wonderful timing for us?" Mr Slugworth continued, "No one will want to buy Wonka candy after this."

"But…" stammered Rose, "What about those poor children?"

"Oh, don't worry about them," said Mr Slugworth a little too quickly, "I expect the extent of their illness was hammed up by the press." Rose felt her hand tighten around the body of the phone.

"Mr Slugworth, I don't think I want to…"

"Now Miss Wilson, we had a deal, remember?" Rose held her breath. "And it's all working perfectly. Please don't worry so much, your fudge will be out selling everyone else's in no time at all, and won't that make you happy?" _No._ The answer came to her so fast it was painful. No, it would not make her happy, not this way. Not when she still had the suspicion that Mr Slugworth was not playing fair. She swallowed hard as Slugworth's words poured into her ear.

"We will take over the candy world, Miss Wilson, and everyone will forget the name Willy Wonka, you mark my words."

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A/N: Thank you to everyone has reviewed, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it! If you would like me to reply to your review please leave your email address and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.

I start lectures tomorrow. Feeling a little nervous. Wish me luck :)


	12. The Graveyard Shift

A/N: It feels like I haven't updated for ages...which isn't true, right? Do you ever get that feeling when half of you thinks the week has gone really fast and the other half thinks it's gone on for eternity? If you don't, then I probably made no sense and I apologise; if you do, that's what keeps happening to me :).

Enough of this irrelevant nonsense, you want to read the story not my ramblings...

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__Chapter 11: The graveyard shift _

Charlie and Willy Wonka worked all day trying to figure out what ingredient was the one that could have caused two perfectly healthy children to suddenly become so dreadfully ill. It was hard and tiring work. Charlie fell asleep inside an empty cardboard box sometime around midnight but Mr Wonka kept working. He organised the Oompa Loompas into shifts so they worked around the clock too. He could not sleep, he would not rest, until he had got to the bottom of this mystery and it would never, ever happen again.

Meanwhile, in the Bucket home, Mr and Mrs Bucket were beginning to worry about Charlie.

"I haven't seen him all day," said Mrs Bucket as she twisted her skirt in her lap.

"Me neither," said Mr Bucket who had not even changed out of his work clothes. A loud snore was Grandpa Joe's contribution. He had fallen asleep in his chair waiting for Charlie to come to bed. Mrs Bucket took hold of a blanket and draped it around him then she sat back down at the table and drummed her fingers soundlessly against the wood. Mr Bucket took the seat opposite her and they waited together in silence.

Charlie woke to find that he was scrunched uncomfortably somewhere which definitely was not his bed. Blearily, he peered out of his makeshift box bedroom and saw a familiar scarlet coloured back. His head was swimming with tiredness and he felt disorientated from waking somewhere he had not meant to sleep. All he wanted was for Mr Wonka to turn round, realise he was there and take him home but he appeared to be wholly engrossed in whatever he was doing. Charlie rolled up his sleeve to check his watch, _half past two_! He let a little moan escape him. Immediately Wonka span around, his bright eyes focusing instantly on Charlie.

"You're awake," he said somewhat unnecessarily. Charlie half crawled, half stumbled from his box.

"Oooh, Charlie, you don't look so hot," said Wonka almost taking a step backwards as if Charlie had something infectious.

"Mmmtired," murmered Charlie. He could barely keep his eyes open let alone speak.

"What?"

"I'm tired," repeated Charlie with a great effort at making his speech more clear.

"Oh," said Wonka, clearly he had not considered this a possible reason for Charlie's less than fully alert state. He consulted his pocket watch. "Oh!" He dropped the watch and whistled sharply. Four Oompa Loompas appeared, all of them looking a bit worse for wear too.

"I want you to take Charlie back home, he needs to get some sleep, kay?" The four Oompa Loompas crossed their arms and positioning themselves around Charlie they began to guide him into the elevator. Wonka watched him go and then turned back to the task at hand. Tiredness would not be an obstacle for him for quite some time.

"Charlie." A soft voice was calling his name, and someone was shaking him ever so gently by the shoulder but Charlie had only been asleep for ten minutes, he didn't want to get up again. He rolled over but the voice called his name again. "Charlie, you have to get up now. It's almost time for school." Charlie's lethargic mind struggled to comprehend what it was being told. School? _Now? _In the middle of the night! He opened his eyes and found himself looking at the wall. It was not dark any more, the room was filled with light; daylight! Charlie groaned.

Ten minutes later and Charlie was dressed, and at the breakfast table trying to force his cereal into his mouth. He did not even hear the knock at the door but Mrs Bucket, who also had dark circles around her eyes, walked over and opened it.

"Mr Wonka," she said as she tried to stifle a yawn herself, "Please come in." But Mr Wonka remained in the doorway. He had a newspaper twisted almost to the point of breaking in his gloved hands. Mrs Bucket bit her lip.

"Is there something else about…?" she began but she was not quite brave enough to finish the question.

"About how terrible my factory is?" Wonka supplied, a slight twitch betraying his true feelings all too well. "You…" His eyes had travelled past Mrs Bucket and into the room, settling in disgust upon Charlie's breakfast bowl. Before anyone could stop him he had strode over, snatched it up and poured the whole lot into the bin.

"Don't you know what's in breakfast cereal?" he enquired of the whole family. Charlie, who had been battling his way through the cereal anyway, was secretly quite glad to be rid of it. Wonka appeared to have forgotten what he had knocked on the door for; Charlie was beginning to wonder if he'd had a reason at all.

"Mr Wonka, did you find out what was wrong with your chocolate?" asked Grandma Josephine. Charlie winced. He knew Grandma Josephine had only been trying to take an interest but the way Wonka rounded on her told Charlie that he had not seen it that way.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with my chocolate, my dear woman," he said coldly, "Nothing at all."

"But…" began Grandma Josephine but she fell silent at the look Mr Wonka gave her and returned to her knitting with an air of great concentration. Wonka looked around at everyone else as if daring them to say a word against his creations; Charlie could see that the paper in his hands was beginning to fray.

"Mr Wonka?"

"Yes Charlie?"

"May I see the newspaper?" Wonka looked at the paper in his hands and then, with a veiled sigh, handed it over. Charlie flicked through it. Products to be recalled; orders cancelled…there was no good news for Wonka Products. Charlie laid the paper down on the table.

"We'll figure something out, Mr Wonka," he said and everyone who heard him knew he believed it with all his heart. Wonka regarded Charlie approvingly. Mrs Bucket thought he was going to suggest Charlie stay and help him again so she decided to cut in before he could say a word.

"You had better get your school bag, Charlie, or you'll be late."

"Yes, mum." He hurried up the stairs to get his things. Mrs Bucket turned to Mr Wonka with a mind to ask if he wanted her to cook him anything but he was staring so avidly at the paper that she was afraid to disturb him. His purple gloved fingers were tracing the words.

"Have you noticed something?" asked Grandpa Joe. Wonka did not look up; he did not acknowledge Grandpa Joe at all so Grandpa Joe took matters into his own hands and moved to look over the chocolatier's shoulder.

_The outlook may look bleak for Wonka's products but Rose's fudge sales have shot straight through the roof. Output has increased by 350, with sales experiencing a similar increase. _

Grandpa Joe felt a distinct flush creeping up into his face. Grandma Josephine was not letting him forget the Rose's fudge incident and even without her near constant reminding he wasn't likely to forget it in a hurry. He was glad when Charlie reappeared at that moment to distract everyone, except Mr Wonka who appeared to be semi-possessed by the articles.

"Goodbye everyone," said Charlie just managing to stifle a yawn as he did so.

"Goodbye Charlie," said all the Buckets who were present. This seemed to jog Wonka back to the present.

"Oh," he said as if he was surprised to find himself in the middle of the Bucket home. He screwed up the paper somewhat viscously and threw it into the Bucket's kitchen bin. "I'll walk to the gate with you Charlie." Mrs Bucket glanced anxiously at the clock but said nothing, she trusted Charlie would make sure he got to school on time whether Mr Wonka was with him or not.

Charlie and Wonka walked silently through the factory, listening to the sounds of the machinery and the Oompa Loompas busy with their day's work. Charlie did not even think about how strange it was that Mr Wonka was accompanying him until they came to the side entrance door. He stopped before opening it, sure that Wonka would say goodbye, or whatever he wanted to say, and then turn back. They stood there for about a minute, Charlie waiting for Wonka to do something and Wonka apparently quite happy to rock on his heels. Finally, Charlie had to speak to avoid being late.

"Um…Mr Wonka? I'm going to school now." Mr Wonka smiled down at him.

"I know that Charlie." Charlie edged a little closer to the door hoping Wonka would get the message.

"I'm going to go now…" Wonka was watching him, still smiling softly as if Charlie was a very amusing toy he had just bought. Charlie pushed open the door.

"Ok," he said, "Goodby…"

"What do you mean goodbye?" asked Wonka. Charlie felt his heart sink a little, had he not made himself clear?

"I told you I would walk with you to the gate, didn't I? Didn't I?" Wonka was frowning, trying to remember what he had said not five minutes before.

"Oh, yes, you did say that!" said Charlie, "I just didn't think you'd actually…"

"Actually what?" asked Wonka plainly. Charlie was not sure what effect telling Mr Wonka that he had not really expected him to set foot outside would have so he covered it by pushing the door open and walking out. It was a cold day, and Charlie was glad of his coat, but the sun was trying to get through the scattered clouds. Mr Wonka gave it a brief look of disdain, he was definitely a winter person despite the warmer than average temperature inside the factory. Charlie felt his tiredness begin to fade as the fresh air filled his lungs although he was sure he would find getting through the day a struggle.

"Charlie?"

"Yes, Mr Wonka." This is what he had been waiting for, he was sure Mr Wonka had not just accompanied him because he fancied a walk. Wonka did not carry on speaking at once; he definitely seemed out of sorts when he was outside. When he did speak they were almost at the gate.

"You must keep your ears and eyes open, my dear boy. If you hear anything you think I ought to know you must tell me at once, kay?"

"Of course, Mr Wonka," said Charlie without really knowing what he was agreeing to or why. Wonka began to smile and then faltered, his eyes looking past Charlie and through the gates. Quite suddenly he took a step sideways so that he was entirely submerged in the shadow of his enormous factory. Charlie swallowed, and turned round, his stomach fluttering. He was not sure what he expected to see but a woman wrapped in an overlarge coat was not high on his list. She was looking at another part of the factory, her expression hidden by the brim of her pink hat. She turned her head, caught sight of Charlie, gasped and hurried away.

"Who was that?" asked both Charlie and Mr Wonka in unison then they looked at each other. Wonka was still hidden in shadow but Charlie could just about make out his expression, nervy yet indignant. Then Charlie remembered something, he had a dim memory of seeing that woman before.

"I bumped into her a little while ago," he said, "I'm sure it was her, she was outside the factory then too." That was the wrong thing to say. Wonka's eyes flashed with a fire Charlie had only ever seen smouldering there before. "I think she was only looking in out of interest," Charlie said quickly but his efforts to put out the flames seemed only to fan them. Charlie decided then that he would never tell Mr Wonka that he used to watch the factory through the gates all the time, breathing in the warm aroma of the chocolate before heading home for yet another meal of watery cabbage soup.

"I'd better go, Mr Wonka, or I'll be late." The fire in Wonka's bright eyes dimmed and he smiled but there was a noticeable lack of his usual delight.

"You have a good day, Charlie." It was an unusually solemn goodbye from the eccentric chocolatier and Charlie could not help wishing that Mr Wonka would say something unexpected or laugh at nothing at all.

"You too, Mr Wonka. I'll try and get back from school as quick as I can." Wonka felt a powerful twinge in the region of his heart. There was Charlie, desperately tired from staying up half the night helping him, off to deal with a whole day of school and still he was promising to come straight back and get stuck in once again. That Golden Ticket idea really had been genius. Wonka was so busy thinking this that he forgot about the mysterious woman looking through the gate for the moment, but certainly not forever.

Rose's head was spinning. She had not eaten properly all week and her sleep had been erratic at best. She had found herself outside Wonka's factory without knowing what she was doing. The last two days had been the hardest of all, what with fresh anti-Wonka articles pouring from every direction. Oh yes, it was true, her profits had soared beyond anything she could have imagined but so had her feelings of unease and being trapped. Mr Slugworth was playing a dangerous game, one that he might feel comfortable with but Rose felt like she was being pulled along so fast that the view either side of her was blurred. She wanted to return to the quiet life she had known and loved for so long. She wanted to make fudge in her own kitchen and package it in her own pink boxes and help load up the special pink truck that bore her name on the side. That world seemed a million years away. Rose's heart trembled as she thought that maybe it would never come again, maybe it was gone forever. She looked over her shoulder. There was no one there. She had been sure that the little boy would try to tail her or something, maybe he was…no, no, don't be ridiculous, he was probably just going to school like every other little boy his age. Only most little boys weren't apprentices to the evil corporation might of Mr Wonka. Once again Rose got a terrifying mental image of a huge, round man shouting at the kind, little boy who had apologised to her that one time. She saw the spit flying from his mouth and his face turning red, and then his face slowly morphed into that of Mr Slugworth's and she heard his voice, quiet and icy, "Together we will bring an end to Wonka and all he has created. It will be a new beginning, a new era for confectionery…and we will be the creators extraordinaire!" Rose shivered though her body's reaction had nothing to do with the cold outside. Oh, how she wished all of this would end. Unfortunately for Rose and for Wonka, it was not going to end any time soon.

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A/N: I'm trying really, really hard to give this story the attention it deserves and so far I'm managing but please forgive any slow updates. Life is a greedy thing, it just has an insatiable appetite for my time. Anyway, thank you to everyone who is reading and to everyone who has been kind enough to review. I hope I can continue to keep you all entertained. :)


	13. At the school gate

A/N: Here we are then, another chapter!

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_Chapter 12: At the school gate _

Over a fortnight passed and still the papers printed endless inches on the failings of Willy Wonka and his chocolate despite the fact no further complaints had been made. The Oompa Loompas had begun burning the papers before Mr Wonka could see them, something which he pretended not to notice. He was just beginning to show the strain of the situation now. His usually impeccable appearance was beginning to suffer. Colours began to clash horribly and sometimes he would quite forget to pick up a hat which only served to draw attention to his tired, shadowed face. His eyes had lost much of their sparkle, and he had not invented anything new or even tried for longer than he cared to admit. Charlie, who spent as much of his spare time as he possibly could by his mentor's side, noticed that Mr Wonka often descended into long periods of silence during which no one, not Charlie, not any of the Oompa Loompas, would dare speak to him. At other times he would talk to himself, quite oblivious to the fact that he had company. Charlie went to bed every night with a desperate prayer in his heart on behalf of Mr Wonka. _'Please let him find the problem with the chocolate.' 'Please let him think of an amazing invention that will make everyone forget about the two children who got sick.' 'Please let him get some sleep.' _

The whole factory was on tenterhooks waiting for Mr Wonka to announce that he had found the answer to the whole mystery but so far they had waited in vain. The Oompa Loompas had fallen silent, even their laughter had died away and they worked with their heads down. The Bucket family were a lot quieter too. Grandpa Joe had taken to bed again for long periods and no one had said a word about it. Mr Bucket went off to work each morning secretly glad that he still had his job and that should things keep going badly for Mr Wonka the Bucket family would still be alright. Mrs Bucket was glad of this too but she too kept her mouth shut on the subject. She had no wish to further upset poor Charlie who was by far the most affected by the situation, not including Mr Wonka himself. He had stopped eating his meals, barely showing an interest in all his favourite dishes that Mrs Bucket prepared especially. All he was interested in was being with Mr Wonka and helping him as much as possible. Even his school work was beginning to suffer. Just this morning Charlie had admitted that his maths teacher had had a quiet word with him about his lack of concentration in lessons. _Poor Charlie._ Mrs Bucket sighed. _Poor Charlie. _

Terry watched his friend with his forehead creased with concern. He had read his father's newspapers and heard the rumours circulating the playground but Charlie had not mentioned a thing about the trouble at Wonka's factory, in fact, he barely spoke at all. They sat in silence during break and Charlie stared into space sighing every now and then. Terry tried to cheer him up by offering him treats from his own lunch but Charlie was not tempted by food, he didn't even laugh when Terry tried to tell jokes or pull silly faces but still Terry didn't give up. He had never had a proper friend before and he would rather sit with Charlie in silence that let him go now.

"Do you see that woman?" Terry jumped. He had not been expecting Charlie to speak and it almost caused him to drop his lunch box on the floor.

"Where?" he said. Charlie pointed over to the school gates. At first Terry could see no one at all; the street seemed to be deserted. Then, just when he was about to tell Charlie he could not see anyone, he saw something which he had taken for a shadow move. Charlie was right, there was a woman standing there. Terry felt a shiver travel up his spine.

"Yes," he whispered as if he expected the woman to here them, "Do you know her?" Charlie shook his head but there was something about the way he continued to stare over at the woman that made Terry feel even more uneasy.

"Is she a stranger?" Terry asked meaning to ask if she was someone to be worried about.

"I'm not sure," said Charlie who understood Terry perfectly, "I think I've seen her before." Just then the bell rang and children began running inside to begin their afternoon classes. Charlie and Terry left their bench and walked up to the door, Terry saw Charlie keep his eyes on the gate until the very last moment.

Rose clutched her coat more tightly around her. It was not cold but she shivered as if it was. Her stomach was tying itself so tightly that she thought she might be sick. She could not really believe that it had come to this. Tears sprang into her eyes and for the hundredth time she considered running back home and hiding under her duvet but something stopped her. She had to do what was right even if it meant she was nearly faint with fear. For the next three hours she watched the school gates, her hands deep in her pockets. She was not sure what time school ended, and even if she had known she did not have a watch to check the time anyway. Slugworth's words played in her head every time she thought of making a run for it. Oh, how she wished she had not heard him talking to one of his associates. He had sounded so pleased with himself that Rose still felt sick to think of it. She had not let him know she had heard him, but she could not run from the fact that she had. She had to find Charlie Bucket, she just had to.

When someone passed close by her Rose almost squeaked in terror but they did not stop or even look at her. Soon more people arrived and entered the school gates, and Rose realised the time must be drawing near. She stepped into the shadows even more; the proximity of so many people was making her heart thump hard. The school playground was rapidly filling up with parents and guardians and finally the first child emerged. She was a bright little thing, bouncing down the steps, her blonde hair bouncing as she went. She ran straight up to a woman who looked just like her and wrapped her arms around her waist then the two of them moved off talking together like best friends. Rose forgot her fear for a moment as a lump the size of a golf ball rose in her throat. She had never skipped out of school but they had been happier times, and she had thrown her arms around her mother's waist and told her every secret of her heart. Before she knew it Rose felt the warm trail of tears making their way down her face. She pulled some crumpled tissues from her pocket and wiped her face as children began to stream out of the school and the noise level rose.

It was a veritable wave of children, Rose was sure there had not been that many when she was at school or maybe she simply had not noticed them. They came in twos and threes, all of them chatting and laughing, faces bright and happy. Rose tried to remember what she was here for but the sounds of the children distracted and confused her. Her eyes were beginning to sting and every time she blinked different faces ran past, followed by their adult counterparts. Not Charlie, not Charlie, not Charlie. Oh fudge, she was never going to find him. Her eyes began to fill with tears again and she tried to banish them, she would never be able to spot Charlie if she was crying. She took a timid step forwards to get a better look at a big group of children who were approaching but a mother with a huge pushchair almost steamrolled straight into her making her jump backwards again. She was shaking all over now. Rose took a couple of deep breaths and wrapped her arms around her and recited the words her mother had always said when she started to panic. They came to her in her mother's voice: _You're alright, no one's going to hurt you. Just breathe and you'll be alright. _By the time Rose had calmed herself down sufficiently there were hardly any more children left and she was convinced that she had missed her chance. Rose bit her lip. Now what would she do? It was the weekend now which meant no school which meant she would have to wait another two days. She did not think she would be able to muster the courage to stand, watch and wait again. How could she have got herself into this mess when all she wanted was to make fudge and be left alone?

"Excuse me but I think I know you from somewhere." Rose jumped so severely that her pink hat fell to the floor but she didn't notice. Right in front of her was a small boy, his hair tousled by the wind, his face upturned to look into hers. It was Charlie Bucket. The boy she had been waiting for.

"Oh, I…er…." Rose stammered. She could not remember anything she was meant to say, Charlie's stare was unnerving her. He broke eye contact by bending down to retrieve her hat but she did not take it from him when he held it out.

"My name is Charlie," said Charlie. He was late out of school after talking to one of his teachers but before he could break into a trot towards the factory he had seen the woman in the shadows. He did not understand the petrified look she was giving him but thought maybe she would not be frightened if she knew he was just Charlie. To his surprise the woman nodded slightly. She opened her mouth, closed it again, tried to smile and failed, all the while shaking like a leaf in the breeze. The whole performance reminded him of something he had seen before. When he remembered the thought almost made him smile, she was acting just like Mr Wonka had done the first time they had met on that strange and magical day. All she needed to do now was say something truly weird and the picture would be complete but she did not say anything.

"Were you waiting for someone?" Charlie asked. Perhaps she was a relative of someone in the school or maybe she was lost. While Charlie thought these things he desperately tried to remember where he had seen her face before because he was sure he recognised it from somewhere.

"I…I was waiting for you." Charlie blinked. Had he heard her correctly? She had been waiting for him? He began to feel a little uneasy but the woman seemed to be gaining confidence from his silence.

"I have to tell you something," she said, her voice a whisper, "Something very important." She twisted her hands together, her eyes darting from them to Charlie as if she was sure he was going to shout at her or something equally unpleasant. When Charlie did nothing she continued.

"It's to do with…to do with…" She stammered, her eyes full of fear.

"To do with what?" Charlie asked. He had no idea what the woman could possibly want but he did not like to see anyone in distress and if telling him could help he would stand in front of her all night to wait. The woman looked at him, swallowed, and tried again.

"It's to do with…" Her face was growing pink to match her hat and her hands were twisting more violently than ever. Charlie had an idea.

"Maybe you could whisper it," he suggested. The woman looked at him and then seemed to consider this idea. She nodded slightly and bent to whisper in Charlie's idea.

"Slugworth," she said breathlessly. The word was like a cold breeze that chilled Charlie right down to his toes.

"Pardon?" he said, but before the woman could confirm what she had said there was a loud whooshing noise behind them which made both of them jump. Charlie whirled round only to find himself facing the great glass elevator. The door opened with a ping and Mr Wonka, looking striking in his usual unorthodox attire, stepped out.

"Mr Wonka!" Charlie was unable to keep back his cry of surprise.

"Charlie," replied Mr Wonka. He smiled slightly then he paused. Charlie could not see his eyes due to the fact he was wearing a pair of his enormous dark glasses but he got the distinct impression that Mr Wonka was looking him up and down. After this inspection he smiled again but this time it was a smile of satisfaction or perhaps relief.

"You look fine…healthy….clean…whole….just like I told her you would be."

"Who?" Charlie asked.

"Your mother, of course." Mr Wonka looked around as he continued to talk. "Does she really think I have time to run around after lost children?" Charlie's heart sank. How long had he been talking to his teacher? How long had he been talking to the woman in pink? His mother must have been worried sick, worried enough at any rate to find Mr Wonka and send him to what she evidently thought might have to be a rescue. Wonka, Charlie noticed, did not say one negative word about Charlie's lateness, although a tense line in his forehead was beginning to fade. Charlie's heart sank still further; Mr Wonka had been worried too for all his talk of inconvenience.

"I'm sorry, Mr Wonka, I…" Wonka waved his hand idly.

"No need for that. Let's get back to the factory before your mother accuses me of…" He stopped dead. A terrible expression came over his face. His gaze was fixed over Charlie's shoulder. Charlie held his breath, not sure what he expected to be behind him to cause such an unexpected and startling reaction.

"You…" said Wonka and then he looked at Charlie again. He took a step backwards. His hand found the button that opened the glass elevator and the door slid open. Charlie had no idea what was going on but he was sure of which side of the glass doors he wanted to be. He darted forwards and managed to slip inside the elevator just before the doors slid shut. As it took off from the ground Charlie caught a glimpse of a very frightened looking woman running away down the street. Mr Wonka was watching her too. As the elevator began to move in the direction of the factory he spoke, his voice stiffer than Charlie had ever heard it.

"Charlie, why were you talking to the woman who makes Rose's fudge?"

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A/N: Ooooh, a cliffhanger of sorts? Maybe?

There was lots of Rose in that chapter, hope that's a good thing. I hope you guys feel like you know her now, whether you like her or hate her is a matter of opinion ;-).


	14. The misunderstanding

A/N: I'm sorry! Thank you for your patience. I hate it when I have to push my fics to the bottom of the 'to do' pile but you know how it is.

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_Chapter 13: The misunderstanding _

Now Charlie knew why her face had been familiar! She wasn't an old teacher or a friend of his parents or a long lost relative, she wasn't even an ex-postman or the woman who worked in the post office on Tuesdays. She was Rose Wilson, of Rose's fudge. No wonder Mr Wonka looked so angry! Charlie actually breathed a sigh of relief. The whole situation was clear to him now. He could simply explain what had happened, Mr Wonka would listen and believe him and everything would go back to the way it was! Oh, if only.

Wonka could not believe his eyes, the feeling was so strong he actually removed his glasses in case they had somehow fooled him into thinking he could see something he couldn't but alas, the only thing removing them did was make the image of Charlie smiling lighter and brighter. Something snapped inside of him, a cord that he had thought to be unbreakable. Charlie opened his mouth to give him whatever excuse he had just thought up but Wonka was not going to listen.

"Your mother will be worried if we don't get back right now. The elevator travels faster in silence." Charlie looked up at him uncomprehendingly. _So what if he knew it was untrue?_ _Why should that bother him?_

"But Mr Wonka…"

"Ssh!"

"But Mr Wonka, I…" But Wonka turned away from Charlie and stared out of the glass. He would pretend Charlie wasn't there, that would make everything better. When he got to the factory he would figure something out, things would make sense then.

Charlie fell silent reluctantly, he couldn't very well continue talking to Mr Wonka's back. The atmosphere in the elevator had suddenly got colder than the top of fudge mountain. Charlie felt tears prick at his eyelids. If Mr Wonka would not listen then how could he explain that meeting Rose had been an accident on his part? How could he tell him that he hadn't even known who she was! The thought of Mr Wonka suspecting him of meeting up with his enemies cut Charlie right to the heart. A tear rolled down his face, he brushed it away but another took its place. By the time they reached the factory his face was shining with them but he remained silent, just as Wonka requested.

Mr Wonka did not even look back as the elevator doors slid open. He swept down the corridor, and had disappeared before Charlie could do or say a thing. For a moment he just stood frozen in his misery and then he felt a surge of longing for one place and one place only. He charged through the factory, his vision blurred. He burst into the Bucket home making all those present jump but he didn't notice. He wasn't aware of anyone but his mother who was standing by the oven. He flew to her and wrapped his arms around her waist and as hers closed around him he breathed in the comforting scent of her and soaked her apron with his tears.

Rose ran home so fast she almost collapsed when she got there. Her hands were shaking so badly she could hardly hold her key. Her breath was coming faster and faster instead of slowing down like it should do when you stop running. If she didn't calm down she would black out. That thought was just enough to gain her a little bit of control. The key turned in the lock and she was inside. The moment the door closed she sank to the floor, her composure in pieces. _I'm safe here_, she told herself. Safe from flying glass elevators. Safe from Mr Wonka. Safe from Slugworth. Safe from everything except her own fear. For a whole hour she remained on the floor without even removing her coat. Slowly she began to calm down. It had been a difficult day, a very difficult day. She should never have stayed outside for so long. She should never have tried to speak to Charlie Bucket. But another voice inside told her she had done the right thing. She listened to that voice because it spoke the way her mother had done and it spoke right to her heart.

Rose hadn't the energy to make dinner, and even if she had she would not have had the will to eat it. Instead, she huddled on a chair in her living room with her legs tucked up underneath her. She always sat in the same chair, and left the other one empty. It had been empty since the day her mother had died over seven years ago. Sometimes when Rose woke from a doze she thought she saw someone sitting there but today it was empty. Rose stared at it until her vision blurred. She would have given anything to have a smiling face looking back at her. She sighed and then her thoughts jumped to something quite different, so different in fact that she was quite startled out of her grief which was not so surprising when you consider that her mind had just jumped to Mr Wonka. She would never have believed the man in the red jacket, top hat and sunglasses was the Mr Wonka that lived in the enormous chocolate factory if Charlie Bucket had not said his name. He was about as dissimilar to the image her mind had created as it was possible to be. He had not been round or red faced; he had not shouted at or bullied Charlie; he had not, as far as she could tell, glared at her like she was an insect to be squashed but that last part was difficult to be sure of owing to his dark glasses. In fact, Rose was quite sure that Mr Wonka was the strangest looking man she had ever seen in her life and oddly, this made her feel ever so slightly pleased. She was just trying to figure out why she found the real Mr Wonka better than her imaginary Mr Wonka when she remembered the terrible look on his face. It was a very different look to the one the imaginary Mr Wonka had given her in the past but it was just as frightening. The real Mr Wonka may not have been fat or loud but he was still scary and Rose did not like that at all. A shiver travelled down her spine. Hopefully she would never have to see Mr Wonka or Charlie Bucket again, but even more than that she hoped that Mr Slugworth would forget she existed so she could go back to living and working alone because if he ever found out that she had tried to warn Mr Wonka of his evil plan she was sure he would be very, very mad. Rose shuddered and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. _Very, very mad. _

Charlie was sitting on his mother's lap, her arms still around him. The whole family were gathered round, including Mr Bucket who had only just got in. He had not even taken his coat off before Grandpa Joe started to tell him what had happened to Charlie after school. Charlie was silent as his grandpa told the story, he was barely even listening. All he could think about was the way Mr Wonka had turned away from him. He had never turned away from him before.

"So, Mr Wonka thinks Charlie met up with this Rose person to...to tell her his secret recipes?" Mr Bucket asked to clarify.

"Yes!" said Grandpa Joe whose face was red with outrage, "Isn't that ridiculous?"

"Preposterous!" cried Grandma Josephine.

"Absurd!" added Grandpa George. Grandma Georgina's contribution was a loud hiccup which made everyone look round.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"But why would he think such a thing?" Mr Bucket was shaking his head. "Doesn't he trust, Charlie?"

"The man's stark raving mad if he doesn't!" Grandpa Joe's voice was loud with passion. "He's a complete lunatic!"

"No, he's not." Silence fell as all eyes turned to Charlie. His young face was pale and his eyes were red but he looked every bit as defiant as Grandpa Joe. He looked into his grandpa's eyes and said again, "He's not."

"But Charlie…" began Grandpa Joe but Charlie shook his head.

"He's not mad, Grandpa Joe. He's not mad at all." He hopped off his mother's lap and ran up the rickety stairs to his attic bedroom and although the Bucket family could still see him from where they sat they chose to look away. He deserved a little privacy if that's what he wanted.

The Bucket parents and grandparents conversed in whispers long after they were sure Charlie's misery had carried him off to sleep. Grandma Josephine had to keep reminding Grandpa Joe to keep his voice down as it tended to get louder the angrier he was and he was very, very angry. He was so angry that he was sorely tempted to march straight out of the house and track down that no good chocolatier and show him what for but, as Mr Bucket calmly pointed out, Charlie would never forgive him. Even so, there were some things that cannot be tolerated and for Grandpa Joe upsetting his beloved grandson was top of the list. Mrs Bucket seemed to be thinking more along his lines than Mr Bucket.

"You should have seen him," she said to her husband, "He could barely speak for crying. I've never seen him so upset!"

"I always knew Wonka was a jerk," snapped Grandpa George irritably. Grandma Georgina snored so loudly she jerked awake and treated the family to a bemused smile. Everyone ignored her.

"Perhaps things will calm down once Charlie had a chance to explain himself," said Mr Bucket his voice hopefully. Grandpa George snorted, Grandpa Joe said 'ha!' and both Grandma Josephine and Mrs Bucket both pursed their lips. Mr Bucket took the hint and his shoulders slumped.

Unknown to them all, Charlie wasn't asleep and he was listening to every word, for the adults were not being as quiet as they believed. Charlie felt as if each member of his family were giving voice to a different part of his heart. Part of him wanted to shout at Mr Wonka and make him understand, another part wanted him to wait things out and hope everything went back to normal, then there was the part that dreaded what the morning would bring in case things got worse and finally there was the part that kept shouting random words at him, but as that was the smallest part Charlie found it the easiest to ignore. He stared up at the ceiling until one by one the members of his family called it a night and went to bed themselves. Even when the only sound in the house was the sound of heavy breathing and the occasional snore from Grandma Georgina, Charlie did not sleep.

Charlie was not the only one having a sleepless night. Once again Wonka was wide awake but he wasn't trying to figure out what could have gone wrong with his chocolate, he wasn't even thinking about what new allegations the papers would print tomorrow, all of that had never been further from his mind. He could not settle anywhere because everything reminded him of Charlie; every lever, every button, every door, every secret. He had been filling Charlie with knowledge from the very first second he had entered the factory gates, and he had not stopped. He had considered the possibility of someone forcing information out of Charlie but to think he might have actually volunteered information to an enemy was so painful Wonka could barely stand it. The worst part was he knew this pain. It wasn't like the time he had been forced to close the factory. That pain had been like heavy black curtains closing over everything good and fun in the world, which was bad enough. No, this pain was more like having your happiness harvested from your heart by one of the Oompa Loompas like it was nothing more than a ripe crop of fruit drops. This was the pain of a breaking heart.

Wonka tried desperately not to think about the last time he had felt this bad but the memory squeezed itself through his every defence and suddenly he was there standing in front of the place his father's house had been seeing nothing but sky and earth. The combined effect of the current situation with Charlie and the memory of his father's disappearance stole the light from those lilac eyes and the bounce from his step. It stole the very colour from his world.

The phone was ringing. It had been ringing for a long time now without stopping. Rose didn't even know phones could ring that long without a break. It had rung for so long that she was sure that even if it did stop the ringing would continue in her head for hours and hours to come. She knew she should answer the phone but she remained right where she was in her chair, the chair that had been hers since she could remember. Only one person knew her telephone number, only one person would keep on ringing until the sound drove her mad, and that was the one person Rose never wanted to speak to again. The only thing that made her get up and answer it was the terrifying thought that if Slugworth could not reach her by phone he might come round to her house again in person.

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A/N: Not long until the DVD comes out...but the weekend before that (for the UK anyway) is the opening of the Libertine...and how excited am I about that!

No promises as to when I can get the next chapter out but I'll try my best to make it soon! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed, you guys are the best!


	15. The Black Day

A/N: I am the proud owner of the CatCF DVD! I just finished watching it...just as awesome as I remembered ;-). And I saw the Libertine at the weekend! To those of you who haven't seen it don't spoil it for yourselves; your patience will be rewarded. Take my word for it! It's incredible.

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_Chapter 14: The Black Day_

Charlie woke with a start. For a horrible second he did not know where he was. He sat up and almost bumped his head on the slanted ceiling. Something was wrong, he just knew it. He sat quite still, his blood pounding in his ears. That was it! He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, he could hear the sound of his family sleeping as if he was right in the bed with them, he could hear every little thing a hundred times more clearly than normal and with a cold jolt he realised why. The sound of the chocolate waterfall was missing.

He could not remember getting out of bed or getting down the ladder from his bedroom but he did both without waking either his parents or any of his grandparents. He hesitated at the front door almost afraid of what he would see but fear was also what drove him to open it. If something dreadful had happened he had to know.

Most of the chocolate room looked just the same as usual but instead of feeling relieved Charlie focused on that which was different. There was no chocolate waterfall and the chocolate river was as still as a millpond. The air, which was usually filled with the aroma of light, frothy chocolate, smelt slightly stale, maybe even a bit burnt. Charlie's heart began to thump harder than ever. Had there been a power cut? Had any other parts of the factory been affected? Why hadn't Mr Wonka come to get him? Charlie's heart sank. He had not come to get him because he was still mad at him for what had happened the day before, but Charlie wanted to help if he could. Maybe that would prove to Mr Wonka that he was still loyal to him. Without even thinking about getting dressed out of his pyjamas, Charlie raced across the mint grass. He had been running for a little while when he stopped. Where were the Oompa Loompas? He usually caught glimpses of them cutting back bushes and planting new shrubs but no matter how hard he looked he could not see a single orange suit. Had something happened to the Oompa Loompas! Charlie's next thought made his heart freeze. _Had something happened to Mr Wonka? _

He could not get to the glass elevator fast enough. He pressed the 'WW' button and willed the elevator to go faster even as his stomach lurched and he was almost thrown forwards. If something had happened to Mr Wonka he would never, ever forgive himself. The elevator came to a stop in front of the golden doors which led to Mr Wonka's private rooms. He slipped through the elevator doors before they had even fully opened. He pressed the doorbell and waited. He waited, staring at the two interconnecting W's but the gold doors remained closed. Charlie tried to fight the rising tide of panic. He rang the doorbell again and still there was no response. Charlie began to doubt himself. He had been sure that Mr Wonka would be here but really there was no reason for him to be anywhere at all. The daunting task of searching every room in the factory loomed before Charlie as he rang the doorbell for the third time. Something was telling him that he should not give up. He pressed his finger to the doorbell and held it there for several seconds. Still the doors remained closed and Charlie fought the desire to shout 'Mr Wonka!' at the top of his lungs and batter the door with his fists. He had to get inside. There was no door handle to try so Charlie pushed one of the W's in frustration. To his surprise the door swung open slightly. Charlie was so surprised it took him a second to appreciate what had just happened. Berating himself for not trying the door earlier Charlie burst through and hurtled past the coats and hats that lined the walls of the first room. He ran straight into the next room with its plush red carpet and gold furniture but there was something missing in here too. Charlie came to a halt, his bare feet sinking into the soft fabric beneath him. The air felt flat and cold, which had to mean Mr Wonka was not there. The air always buzzed with excitement when he was present.

"Hello Charlie." Charlie jumped about a foot in the air and span round to face the corner of the room where the voice had come from. He thought at first that he was watching a shadow coming to life but then he picked out a definite, familiar silhouette. Charlie swallowed.

"Mr Wonka?" He had been sure that he would feel relieved to see Wonka alive and well but he could not say he felt relieved now. As Wonka stepped into the light the full extent of his even more unusual than normal appearance became apparent. Instead of his usual bright colours every single item of clothing was black even down to his plastic gloves. He went to stand by the window, and his thin frame contrasted so intensely with the white of the sky that Charlie thought he looked almost sinister.

"What do you want, Charlie?" His voice was cold and he did not turn from the window. Charlie could not answer. He felt like he was trapped in a dream. Everything seemed so strange and yet so real, he was sure it was a dream and in a moment he would wake up and begin the day properly and be greeted by a smiling Mr Wonka in a plum coloured velvet suit.

"Well?" Something made Wonka's voice catch on this word almost like he would rather not have said it at all. There was just enough of the man Charlie knew in that word to snap him back to his senses.

"Mr Wonka, is everything alright? Are you…are you alright?"

Wonka's muscles tensed and he had to clench his jaw tight to stop himself from breaking down completely. He could not bring himself to turn round for he knew that one look at Charlie would be all that the boy needed to capture his heart once again. No. He would not let that happen…but it was so hard not to believe the concern in Charlie's voice. Was he really just pretending to care? Had he always been pretending?

"I'm fine," he said in a very un-fine voice, "I'm…Charlie, will you just tell me what you want?" Oh dear, he was losing his calm. He clenched and unclenched his hands listening to the sound of the plastic squeaking. Yes, that was better.

"I…I was worried about you, Mr Wonka." Wonka closed his eyes tight. "Why is the chocolate waterfall not working? Has something happened to the…?"

"It is not working because I turned it off." He thought he heard Charlie gasp.

"Why?"

"Why?" Wonka repeated regretfully, "Why?" _Because I can't fight you and the rest of the world at the same time. _"Because…because I can't…I can't…" Wonka stopped and took a deep breath. He could not bring himself to say the truth out loud, but why? He could not bring himself to confront Charlie about what had happened, and he didn't know why. He became lost in his thoughts and completely forgot about his unfinished sentence.

Charlie edged closer to the window but Wonka did not appear to notice. He was too busy staring into space, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

"Mr Wonka?" It was Wonka's turn to jump. Their eyes met and Charlie's widened as he looked not upon lilac eyes but brown, dark brown.

"How did you…?" began Wonka but then he broke off and his expression softened slightly, "Why aren't you dressed?" Charlie looked down at himself and the sight of his body in pyjamas almost made him laugh. He looked up expecting to see Wonka smiling but the softness had disappeared from his face again. Charlie's momentary flare of happiness sputtered and died. He could hardly bear to keep looking at his friend and mentor, where had all the colour gone? All of a sudden words were spilling out of Charlie's mouth before he could stop them.

"Mr Wonka, I didn't meet Rose Wilson on purpose. I didn't know she was going to be there and I didn't tell her anything. All I told her was my name because she looked frightened and she…"

"Stop it." Wonka's tone was so sharp that Charlie fell silent at once. There was a short pause. "I've got a lot of work to do, Charlie. There are things to be measured, bottles to be emptied, chocolate to be wasted…I can't do everything with you getting in my way. Will you just…just…?" He didn't say the last word but Charlie barely even noticed. He knew that if he opened his mouth his words would slide into one another and become sobs so he ran from the room without a word. The moment the door shut behind Charlie, Wonka collapsed onto the nearest chair and the sound of squeaking plastic gloves reached fever pitch.

Wonka floated around the factory like a ghost after that. He had to keep his mind on where he was going because every time he went onto auto-pilot he found himself heading towards Charlie's house. He knew what would be happening in there. Charlie would be pretending to be upset, or maybe his whole family were in on this little game. That thought made Wonka more miserable than ever. Charlie would have his family around him. They would be comforting him; Mrs Bucket would probably be making his favourite dinner and Grandpa Joe would probably be getting ready to tell him a story. Wonka sighed again. He was unhappy too but there was no one to make him dinner or tell him a story. He walked slowly over to the glass elevator each step taking twice as long as usual. He didn't pay any attention to which button he pressed, and he didn't even notice when the elevator started to travel upwards gathering speed as it went.

Charlie was up in his room. None of the Buckets had been able to tempt him down. With the rushing of the chocolate river absent they could hear his every movement and his every sigh, and finally Grandpa Joe could take it no longer. His bones might have been old but he climbed up the ladder so nimbly that Charlie did not notice him until he cleared his throat.

"Grandpa Joe!" Charlie's amazement momentarily caused him to forget his troubles. He got up off his bed so his grandpa could sit down but Grandpa Joe remained standing. His eyes travelled over the multitude of paper that had been strewn over the place, some of it screwed up into balls and flung into the farthest corners.

"I'm trying to write a letter," Charlie said when he saw his grandpa looking.

"Who are you writing to, Charlie?" Grandpa Joe was not stupid, he knew the answer but he could not bring himself to say the chocolatier's name right now.

"Mr Wonka." Charlie spoke to the floor and Grandpa Joe felt a flame of anger light up inside him.

"No, Charlie," he said firmly and he took hold of Charlie's chin and gently tilted it upwards so that they were eye to eye, "No one has the right to make you look down. Not even Mr Willy Wonka." Charlie was struck by his grandpa's intensity. He nodded.

"Good. Now…" Grandpa Joe took a seat on the bed. "Why do you want to write this letter?" Charlie pushed aside some of the paper and sat beside his grandpa.

"Mr Wonka won't listen to me so I thought that if I wrote a letter…" He trailed off, his shoulders slumping but he kept his head up. "But he probably won't read it."

"Of course he'll read it!" said Grandpa Joe so loudly that Charlie jumped. "I'll make sure of it." Charlie thought about this.

"I think it's probably best if I just leave it somewhere where Mr Wonka will find it," he said quietly. Grandpa Joe opened his mouth to argue but closed it again. If Charlie wanted to continue treating Mr Wonka like some kind of hero then he doubted anything he said or did would change his mind.

"Alright Charlie." He looked again at all the letters so far, some of them had no more than a sentence on them. "Do you need a little help?" Charlie brightened.

"Ok then, read me what you've got so far." So together Charlie and Grandpa Joe wrote a letter onto which Charlie pinned all of his hopes. When Grandpa Joe watched Charlie seal it into an envelope he wanted to take the letter from him and seal it up somewhere no one would ever find it. It contained too much of his grandson's heart and to think that Mr Wonka would be the one to decide its worth made Grandpa Joe want to cry for the first time in a long, long time. He could barely bring himself to let Charlie leave but Charlie did not even notice his grandpa's distractions. The letter was his very last chance at getting Mr Wonka's forgiveness. It had to work. Charlie broke into a run. He didn't want to think about what would happen if it didn't.

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A/N: More craziness schedule wise threatens the few hours a week I have for writing this fic but never fear, armed with the DVD as fresh inspiration and solid determination even exams, essays and practical write ups won't stop me! Not to mention the coming of a little thing known as Christmas.

Thank you for reading and reviewing to all of you who do. I appreciate it very much. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	16. Advice from Mr Wonka

A/N: It's December! Can you believe it? I hope you're all getting into the Christmas spirit. I'll try and get another chapter out before the day itself...scary how close it is!

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_Chapter 15: Advice from Mr Wonka_

"What the…?" Wonka had just emerged from his reverie to find he was not facing two golden doors. He was in the middle of a field of scrubby grass facing the house that he had just been thinking about. The initial shock wore off quickly and Wonka reached over to press a button, any button as long as it took him back to the factory. He would work out how he ended up out here later. But something stopped him. He looked at the house again. His last meeting with the occupant had been about as much fun as having a tooth pulled. Wonka shuddered at the unfortunate analogy. His father would not want to see him now. His father probably never wanted to see him again, but wasn't that what he had thought before? Sure, his father had not exactly rolled out the welcome wagon but he hadn't sent him away either. That had to count for something. Wonka must have stood inside his creation for over half an hour before he summoned up the courage to open the elevator doors. It was another half an hour after that before he was walking up to the front door of his father's house.

Wonka reached out a plastic coated finger and closed his eyes. The doorbell seemed to ring right through him. How did Charlie manage to do it without flinching? He would have given anything to have Charlie with him but then his thoughts darkened. No, Charlie was the reason he was here in the first place, Charlie had driven him to desperation! The door opened and Wonka actually gasped. Wilbur Wonka was dressed, once again, in his white coat. Wonka wasn't even sure he owned any other clothes. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Wonka felt the desire to slip into his own mind grow stronger and stronger. There was everything he needed there, everything…except a…

"Dad." Wilbur's gloves squeaked.

"Hello Willy," he said as if he had only just seen his only son standing on the doorstep, "You look different."

"I do?" Wonka looked down at himself. Black.

"Would you like to come in?" Wonka looked up.

"Er…" _Why was he standing here? What was the question? Why didn't the bouncing liquorice balls stay bouncy for more than five minutes?_ He noticed his father watching him and gave a nervous smile which Wilbur took as a yes.

A couple of minutes and some awkwardness later and Wonka was sitting in a chair holding a cup of some brown liquid which smelt so awful he had not yet been brave enough to taste it. Wilbur was sipping from his cup so Wonka decided he had better do the same. He brought it apprehensively to his lips. Ew! Urgh! Ouch! Why would anyone in their right mind want to drink such filth! Wonka wanted to cast the cup as far away from him as possible but his father was watching him. He froze for a moment not knowing what he should do. _What would Charlie do?_ He defrosted and put the cup back on its saucer with another nervous smile. Wilbur looked slightly pleased so Wonka presumed he had done the right thing. Just as long as he wasn't expected to drink the whole thing.

"So…Willy," said Wilbur in that familiar deep voice that resonated through Wonka's chest so that his heart rattled, "I've been reading about you in the papers." Wonka flinched.

"What do you intend to do about the poisoning incident?" The cup and saucer in Wonka's hand shook so badly he had to put it down before the foul brown stuff went everywhere, something he would not have lamented for long.

"I…er…"

Wilbur waited for his son to explain to him what exactly had happened in that disastrous factory of his, if he was honest with himself he had been expecting something like this to happen. No matter how proud he was of his son, the disapproval was still too strong to be ignored.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" he pressed unable to stop himself. Suddenly Willy looked up at him and the adult disappeared, in his place Wilbur saw the little boy he had known. His son. He blinked and the child was gone. It was then, and only then, that he fully appreciated the fact that his son had grown up without him. He didn't know him any more; maybe he had never known him at all.

Wonka watched bewildered as his father's eyes grew strangely bright. He turned to catch Charlie's eye. His face fell when he remembered Charlie wasn't there. He sighed and this sound floated through the room settling on everything like a fine covering of sad dust. Whether Wilbur Wonka noticed his son look for someone who wasn't there or whether he simply picked up on the feelings in the air, it was impossible to say, but he forgot about what he had read in the paper. Here was his son, right in front of him, hopefully this time answers would be in words rather than in print.

"Where is Charlie today?" Wonka looked up, amazed.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?" Wilbur asked eyeing his son warily, but Wonka's mind had already raced ahead. He remembered what had made him enter his father's house in the first place. He took a deep breath. It was now or never.

"Dad…I need your help." Wilbur blinked. He looked as if he had just been hit in the face by something hard. Wonka's hopeful smile faded. The room was suddenly filled with the sound of rubber squeaking. _What would Charlie do? What would Charlie do? What would Charlie do? _

"It's about Charlie…he…we've kind of fallen out." Wilbur's dark eyes widened in surprise. It seemed the child had not left his son after all.

"Fallen out? You mean to say you've had an argument."

"Well, no," said Wonka touchily, "To have an argument I would need to be talking to him now, wouldn't I?" Wilbur placed his tea on the arm of the chair slowly.

"I see. So, what exactly did you fall out about?" Wonka sighed again but said nothing, he began to trace a shape on his knee apparently lost in his own thoughts. Wilbur watched him, a bewildered frown on his face, and waited for his son to pick up where he had left off.

Rose hated herself. She hated herself more than she hated anyone in the whole world. Slugworth had paid her a visit and she had almost told him everything. He had spoken so gently, his voice a purr but behind his words had been spikes; she had felt them sharp as needles. She was sure at one point that he had guessed where she had been and who she had talked to. She was sure he was waiting for her to make a mistake, tell a lie she had no alibi for and then pounce. But he didn't. He just wanted to know why she had not turned up for work. She had told him she was ill. When she had looked in the mirror later she was not surprised that he had believed her. She looked like she had neither slept nor eaten, probably because she had barely done either in days. She could not pretend to be ill forever. Tomorrow she would have to re-enter Slugworth's factory and make her fudge once more only she knew it didn't taste as good as it once did. The magic was missing but Slugworth didn't care. It was still outselling Wonka's and what was more important than that?

"So you're not talking to Charlie because he met up with one of your rivals, and you think he might be working against you?" Wilbur felt it was necessary to recap his son's story seeing as it had been so slow and patchy to come out. When Willy nodded, Wilbur shook his head in disbelief.

"You stupid boy!" Wonka's face filled with hurt. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again but his father wasn't finished. "You get back to the factory this instant!"

"What? But…" Wonka stared at his father. He couldn't believe he was being sent away again, just when he was sure things were getting better between them. Maybe he really was stupid after all; stupid enough to believe things could ever be different.

Wilbur saw the incomprehension on his son's face. He saw a lot of things that he should have noticed before. The black, the unhappiness, the fact that Willy had come to him in the first place; he should have known something was wrong without having to be told.

"Willy, listen to me. You've made a terrible mistake."

"I have? Oh…is it the shoes? I never did think they were right with this outfit but I just couldn't find any others this morning and…"

"No," said Wilbur cutting Willy off midstream, "It's about Charlie."

"Charlie?" Willy looked just as confused as if Wilbur had said 'sausages'.

"Yes," said Wilbur, "Tell me, has Charlie ever shown any interest in making as much money as possible?" Wonka did not even need to think about that.

"No, but…"

"And has he ever done anything that might suggest that his loyalty lies elsewhere? Has he ever undermined your authority or caused trouble?"

"Well, no, no and no, but…" Wonka stopped suddenly. Random memories of the past few months began to flood his brain. Charlie laughing at one of the Oompa Loompa songs, Charlie falling asleep beside him after working long into the night, Charlie returning from school ready to get started on whatever was asked of him, Charlie talking when it was too silent, Charlie being quiet when there was too much noise; his father was right! He had made a terrible, terrible mistake! How could he ever have doubted his faithful assistant? His…his best friend.

"Wow." He looked up at his father. "I need to get back to the factory." Wilbur nodded. He may not have approved of his son's profession, he may not find it easy to understand him but Wilbur knew that Willy needed Charlie even more than perhaps he realised. He watched out of his window as the glass elevator took off and as it rose higher and higher he felt lighter of spirit than he had done in years.

Wonka had every intention of going straight to find Charlie but he happened to catch sight of himself in the glass of the elevator door. He did a double take. Black! He stared at himself and himself stared right back. Well, one thing was for sure, he wasn't going to see Charlie looking like this!

Five minutes later and Wonka was as lilac eyed and red coated as ever. He grabbed his candy cane and was just about to set off to find Charlie when something caught his eye. There was an envelope on his desk, an envelope which definitely had not been there this morning. Torn between opening it and rushing off Wonka stood indecisively for five minutes in which time he could have read the letter or made significant progress towards finding Charlie.

"Oh fizzing flubgrubbers." Hurriedly Wonka took up the letter and tore it open. The childish handwriting almost made him laugh but the laughter soon died on his face as he began to read and as he did the voice of the writer became clearer and clearer until it seemed as if Wonka was not reading at all but being read to by the one person he wished to find.

_Dear Mr Wonka, _

_I hope you read this letter. I never meant to make you angry by meeting Miss Wilson. I promise I didn't know she would be there, it was a surprise to me too and I wished you were with me because I didn't know what I was supposed to do. But she wasn't angry or mean, she didn't ask me a single question. She was trying to tell me something but she was scared, she couldn't get the words out or anything. All she said was SLUGWORTH. I think she knows something important, Mr Wonka. I think she knows something that you should know. _

_I promise I will never talk to Miss Wilson again. I know what she looks like now so I can make sure I avoid her. Please don't make my family leave the factory, it wasn't their fault. I'm sorry, Mr Wonka. I'm really sorry. Please don't make me leave. _

_Thank you for reading my letter,_

_Charlie _

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A/N: CatCF cheered me up at the weekend when I was feeling weighed down by work, I hope this fic does the same to you if you are feeling December pressure. :)


	17. Children only

A/N: Merry Christmas! I told you I'd get a new chapter up before the big day, didn't I:) Not long to go now.

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_Chapter 16: Children only _

Mr Slugworth patrolled his factory with his small eyes darting back and forth to catch slackers red handed. The fudge room was in full operation and the air was thick with sugary sweetness. Slugworth's nostrils expanded but he got no pleasure from the smell of the confectionary, the thing that made his thin lips pull into a semblance of a smile was the thought of how much money he would make when the fudge was on the shelves of all the sweet shops in town. He rubbed his hands together, his thin skin sounding like paper as left met right. His eyes picked out Rose who was presently in the corner of the room trying to make herself look even more invisible than usual despite wearing a bright pink cardigan. He could have laughed if the action had been more familiar to him. He was paying Rose a mere fraction of the profit he was getting and she had not even made one squeak of protest. It was almost as if she wanted to be taken advantage of. It was all so easy, and soon it would be a whole lot easier once Wonka was out of the picture completely. Soon, very soon, Wonka's factory would be out of business forever and no one suspected a thing. At least, that's what Slugworth thought.

Rose saw Mr Slugworth go about his daily inspection and she could not help a shudder running through her. What if he had already set his newest plan in action? Had she done enough to stop him? Of course she hadn't, Rose thought miserably. She was still working for him, wasn't she? She had not managed to tell Charlie Bucket the whole story and she was too frightened to try again in case Mr Wonka turned up. If something terrible happened it would be all her fault and she would have to live with the guilt for the rest of her life. But what could she do? She couldn't even go shopping without having a panic attack? She wasn't a hero. She was just Rose. No one would even notice if she disappeared…as long as her secret recipe didn't disappear along with her.

Willy Wonka would not have called himself a confident man. Sure, he was the best chocolate maker in the entire universe but that wasn't confidence, that was simply the truth, wasn't it? Of course it was. He was, however, confident that Charlie would be in the Bucket house and that he would forgive everything without question and things would go back to the way they had been, because that's what Charlie did, right? Wrong. First of all, Charlie wasn't in his house at all, not even under his bed.

"So…Charlie's not here?" Wonka straightened up and looked at Grandpa Joe with a slight frown on his face.

"That's what I keep telling you!" said Grandpa Joe his patience at its absolute limit, "Charlie hasn't been here since he delivered that letter to your office."

"Oh," said Wonka. This was a problem. Finding someone in his factory was never an easy job. He had lost his head Oompa Loompa for three months once; he'd turned up in the Cocoa Cat's room. No one knew what he'd been doing there or why; it was a mystery to this day.

"Mr Wonka!" Wonka jumped, he had completely forgotten Grandpa Joe was in the room. For some reason the old man looked quite angry. "Mr Wonka, you really can't just barge in here and expect Charlie to be waiting for an apology. He's been waiting long enough. You…"

"An apology? My dear man, I don't intend to offer Charlie an apology!" Wonka actually laughed. "I just need to tell him that I've changed my mind." There was a nerve pulsing in Grandpa Joe's forehead.

"Mr Wonka, I don't think you…" Wonka sighed impatiently.

"Look, Grandpa Joe, I don't have time to chat. I have a little boy to find and a whole factory to search, I really must get going."

"Mr Wonka…" But Wonka walked straight out of the house without listening to another word. Grandpa Joe watched him and shook his head. There was something very wrong with that man.

Charlie had tried to sit in one place and wait for the answer to his letter but the tension was killing him. He should have waited with the letter in Mr Wonka's office but he couldn't bring himself to go back there now. He walked aimlessly through corridors not taking in any of the names on the doors. When he finally looked up it was only because he had reached a dead end. There was a door in front of him and Charlie barely looked at it before turning round but something about the words written there made him turn back round. _Children only. _What kind of a room was that? Charlie took a step closer to the door. He reached out a hand and pushed it open. His jaw dropped open as he saw what was inside. He stepped right into the room and let the door shut quietly behind him. Charlie was immersed in a room so strange and so unexpected that he didn't notice time slip away completely.

Mrs Bucket was in tears. Mr Bucket had his arms around her but he looked like he was holding himself together with difficulty. Grandpa Joe oscillated between anger and fear with alarming speed and nothing Grandma Josephine said or did would make him sit down. Grandpa George glanced at the clock, something all of them were doing at regular intervals. Another ten minutes passed. That made it almost twelve hours since any of them had seen Charlie. Mrs Bucket stifled a large sob and tried to wipe her eyes with her sleeve. Usually they would not have been worried, usually Charlie not being home would be no cause for alarm but usually he was with Mr Wonka. Even when he wasn't, Mr Wonka usually knew where he was and what he was doing. It could not have been clearer that Wonka was just as in the dark as they were. There was a knock at the door, a very timid, quiet knock, but Mrs Bucket got her hopes up all the same and dashed to it. When she saw Mr Wonka standing there instead of her beloved son she burst into tears and hurried away. Wonka cringed at the sight of her blotchy face and the sound of her sobs, but he knew there would be worse to come. He did not ask to come in.

"So, have you found him?" Grandpa Joe asked sharply. Everyone knew what the answer would be. Wonka swallowed.

"No," he said very, very quietly. For a moment no one spoke, to everyone's surprise it was Mr Bucket who broke the silence.

"Could he have left the factory?" He sounded like a man trying very hard to keep calm. Mr Wonka's eyes widened slightly. Clearly, he had not considered this as a possibility.

"This is all your fault, you know," said Grandpa Joe pointing a shaking finger at Mr Wonka for at least the twentieth time, "If you had just…"

"This really isn't helping," said Mr Bucket softly but Grandpa Joe brushed his words aside. Seeing Mr Wonka weighed under with the reality of what he had done was making him feel better, not much but anything was worth taking.

"Charlie left because of you. He couldn't stand the thought of you rejecting him any more than you already had." Mr Wonka closed his eyes for a moment as if in pain. "If you'd only talked to him he'd be here right now." Mrs Bucket continued to sob from the direction of the kitchen. As Grandpa Joe took a breath Mr Bucket decided to intervene.

"Are you sure you don't need us to join the search, Mr Wonka?" Wonka looked up at him as if he had spoken a language he didn't understand. Slowly, the words sorted themselves out and made sense.

"I have every Oompa Loompa in the factory looking for him. I don't think…"

"And what if he's not in the factory?" Grandpa Joe interrupted, "What if he got so upset he decided to leave the place for good?" He didn't really know why he was saying all this, it had to be hurting him as much, if not more, than it was hurting Mr Wonka. But Charlie wasn't the type to run away from home. He hadn't said anything about leaving, but then he wouldn't, would he?

Mrs Bucket wiped at her eyes until they were even more red than they were before. She turned, determined to give Mr Wonka a piece of her own mind. How dare he upset Charlie so badly that he disappeared? But when she turned and saw Wonka properly she found her words died in her throat. He looked like a man who was on the very edge of some terrible emotion that threatened to destroy him. She swallowed and tasted salt.

"He hasn't left the factory." She was barely aware that she was the one speaking. Everyone looked at her and in each pair of eyes she saw hope shining like a candle in a high wind. She sniffed. "He wouldn't run away."

"But…" began Grandpa Joe but Mrs Bucket silenced him with a particularly ferocious glare.

"He's in the factory somewhere," she repeated, "He wouldn't…he couldn't…he's a child, he's only a child."

No one was looking at Mr Wonka so no one saw the change in his expression. The first they knew of the change in him was when he repeated Mrs Bucket's words in an uncannily accurate impression of her own voice. _He's only a child._ And quite suddenly, before any of them could demand an explanation, he smiled. It was so sudden in fact that Mrs Bucket found it very creepy and by the looks on her family's face she was not the only one.

"That's it," said Wonka in a voice which one might use to say 'eureka!' He beamed around at them all as if expecting them to be just as enlightened.

"What's it?" Mr Bucket ventured, being the only one able to find his voice.

"The man's gone completely batty," hissed Grandpa George under his breath. Grandma Josephine nodded in agreement. Mr Wonka either didn't hear them or ignored them.

"He's only a child," Mr Wonka said again, the smile still on his face, "That's it! I can't believe I didn't think of it before. No wonder we haven't found him. Oh, don't you worry, I'll have Charlie back to you in no time, no time at all." And with that he disappeared from the doorway at such speed that no one had time to question him further. Mr Bucket, Mrs Bucket, Grandpa Joe, Grandma Josephine, Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina all stared at the place he had been standing, all of them too shocked to speak.

Mr Wonka swept along the corridor his eyes fixed straight ahead. He was sure that his suspicion was correct but even the surest of sure people have doubts when everything they are sure about is resting on the matter on which they are sure about. Wonka actually had to stop to go over that thought in his head before he could continue. He had not been past this room ever before, but that was only because it was impossible to go past this particular room as it was at the end of a long corridor. He stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath. If Charlie wasn't in this room then he would be out of ideas and out of luck. He would have to face the Buckets again and he feared that if he did so again without Charlie by his side Grandpa Joe might very well explode. He had never seen a person explode before, although his father had got very close on occasion, and he had no desire to add that to his list of accomplishments.

Charlie had enjoyed it at first. There was an enormous adventure playground, with twisting slides and bridges that rattled as Charlie crossed them. He had pretended that the playground was his fort and that he had been called upon to defend it from some deadly enemy which he named 'Slugworth'. The game had grown tiresome though with no one else to play with, so Charlie had taken to sitting on the swing sighing occasionally. When that had begun to get boring Charlie had tried to find the way out. He remembered coming through a door only there wasn't a door in sight. He had walked for what felt like hours but still no door appeared. Charlie had started to get a little worried and more than a little hungry. And what if Mr Wonka had read his letter? What if he had gone to his house expecting to find him there? What if that had made him cross? Charlie's insides squirmed and he had tried shouting for an entrance to reveal itself, but it wasn't Lord of the Rings and nothing happened.

When he heard the tapping Charlie leapt up from the bench he had been resting on. He listened hard hoping against hope that whoever or whatever was making the noise would make it again so he could locate the source of the noise.

Mr Wonka was growing ever so slightly anxious. He had been knocking for so long that his knuckles were starting to hurt. He would have to see about fitting the room with a softer door. Charlie had to be in there, he just had to be.

Charlie ran to an enormous oak tree which had a tree house set high up in its branches. The tapping seemed to be coming from inside there. He listened again. Yes, it was definitely coming from inside the tree. Some boys might have found a tapping tree so strange that they would back away but Charlie could have hugged it. He ran his hands over the rough bark until his fingers brushed against something that definitely wasn't wood. It was cold, and hard, and door handle shaped. He closed his hand around it and pulled.

For a second neither Wonka nor Charlie moved. A thousand emotions ran between those lilac and brown eyes. Charlie let the door close behind him. Wonka opened his mouth and then closed it. He moved one hand forward then let it fall again. In the end he decided it was easier to speak.

"Don't you ever do that to me again, Charlie." Wonka sounded uncharacteristically serious, and was it Charlie's imagination or did his eyes look over bright? Charlie swallowed. This was all a bit too much to take in.

"I'm sorry, Mr Wonka." Wonka flinched as if Charlie had hit him. After all he had done to the boy he was the one getting the apology. He sincerely hoped Grandpa Joe never got wind of it.

"Charlie, I…" What could he say? I'm an idiot. I never should have doubted you. If only Charlie would look away or something. There was too much affection in those brown eyes, too much undamaged affection.

Charlie could feel his throat tightening. He wanted to speak and tell Mr Wonka that none of it mattered. He wanted to repeat the sentiments of the letter. But he was afraid that if he opened his mouth the tears that were building up in his eyes would start to fall. If it was his mother or father he would have rushed forwards and hugged them as tight as he could but this was Mr Wonka. He didn't like to be touched; he didn't even like to see other people touching. And that was why Charlie was so shocked when Mr Wonka stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him.

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A/N: Thank you to all my reviewers, you guys are the greatest! Enjoy Christmas and I'll update as soon as I can.


	18. Forgiveness

A/N: Happy New Year everyone! I hope everyone has a wonderful 2006.

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__Chapter 17: Forgiveness_

When Mr Wonka released him Charlie could only think of one thing to say.

"Mr Wonka, are you alright?" It wasn't that he had not appreciated being hugged, he just hadn't expected it. Wonka nodded, but he looked a little rocked all the same. He smiled shyly and pulled something from his velvet coat pocket. It was the letter Charlie had written.

"I read it." Charlie waited, his nerves on edge. Wonka looked from the letter in his hand to Charlie. He knew he had to say it. He took a deep breath.

"I'm really sorry, Charlie." Something shattered inside of Charlie's chest and a flood of warm, beautiful relief washed over him. The hug came much more naturally for Charlie and he was squeezing Wonka tightly before he even realised what he was doing, but apart from tensing ever so slightly Mr Wonka did not react negatively at all. The tight painful feelings that had been crippling both of them fell away to be swept away and hopefully forgotten. They didn't need to say any more.

"So…what's it like in there, Charlie?"

"In where?"

"In there." Mr Wonka pointed at the door of the _Children Only_ room.

"Haven't you been in there?" Charlie asked.

"Of course not, Charlie! Do I look like a child to you?" Charlie smiled and that smile turned into a laugh. He felt like he had not laughed in a very long time. Wonka smiled slightly but his thoughts had suddenly become very occupied by something else.

Wonka really didn't want to go back to the Bucket house. He wanted to show Charlie that he really did believe him to be innocent. He wanted to show him some of the rooms he had never seen before. He wanted to tell him secrets that only he would ever hear. He didn't want to waste any more time on anything else. There were, however, two problems. The first one was the most pressing. If he did not take Charlie back to his house right now he would face a _VERY_ angry Grandpa Joe and a very upset Mrs Bucket. Neither of which he wanted to see ever again. The second problem was that no one was buying Wonka chocolate so there didn't seem to be much point in telling Charlie or anyone else how to make it. The second point was too unpleasant to think about for long so Wonka wisely focused on the first one.

"We'd better get back to your house, Charlie. Unless you want your Grandpa to make me into toffee." He smiled weakly. Charlie looked slightly confused then his expression turned into one of mild horror.

"How long have I been gone?" he asked. Wonka consulted his pocket watch.

"We're nearly into our thirteenth hour," he said before dropping the watch back into his pocket. Charlie gasped. _Thirteen hours!_ No wonder he was hungry! His family must have been worried sick, and Mr Wonka… He felt a horrible prick of guilt.

"Really Charlie, I wasn't joking about the toffee." Charlie jumped into action and both of them set off towards the Bucket house at a very brisk pace.

As they walked Charlie noticed that Wonka was back to his usual self appearance wise. He couldn't believe that it had taken him so long to notice. He smiled to himself. All the doubt and upset Wonka had put him through was already fading into distant memory as they came within sight of the chocolate room. Almost home now.

"Charlie!" Every member of the Bucket family shouted at once, their voices overlapping and joining with the others to create one loud burst of sound. Mrs Bucket reached him first and she kissed him so often on both cheeks that they began to go a magnificent shade of scarlet. Grandpa Joe squeezed Charlie's shoulder so hard it felt like he was trying to break it and Mr Bucket ruffled his hair so energetically that his head felt more rattled that it had done after his first trip in the glass elevator. Charlie thought that this must be what people mean when they said that love hurt.

"Where on earth have you been, Charlie? We were so worried about you!" His mother's face was damp, she must have been crying for ages.

"I'm sorry, mum. I found this room and…"

"Never do that again, Charlie!" This time from Grandpa Joe.

"No, Charlie, please don't." Grandma Josephine.

"I really want some ice cream." Grandma Georgina. Charlie wanted to laugh. He expected Mr Wonka to say that she could have ice cream whenever she chose like he usually did but when he heard nothing he looked around. Mr Wonka was standing in the doorway, more out than in. He was watching the proceedings warily as if he expected to be attacked at any minute.

"Mr Wonka…" he began but that was as far as he got. Every face turned to the doorway and Wonka winced visibly. Charlie did not understand. Grandpa Joe soon enlightened him.

"Nice to see you brought him back in one piece." Charlie stared at his grandpa in astonishment. He had never heard him sound so cutting.

"Now, now," said Mr Bucket ever the peace maker, "Charlie's safe now, there's no need to…"

"Don't try and keep me quiet," said Grandpa Joe hotly, "That man upset Charlie enough to make him disappear for the_ entire_ day. I, for one, am not going to forgive him easily."

"I didn't mean to be gone so long," Charlie piped up, "I found this room but I couldn't find the way out again, it wasn't…"

"Ah ha!" Grandpa Joe was triumphant. "So now you're resorting to dirty tricks to keep Charlie where you want him. Well, that's disgraceful!" Charlie turned to look at Mr Wonka. Why wasn't he defending himself? He could tell Grandpa Joe that he'd never been inside that room and that he wouldn't know how to get out himself. He could tell everyone. But Mr Wonka said nothing at all. His shoulders were slumped in defeat and his eyes were firmly cast to the floor.

"What if something had happened to you, Charlie?" Grandpa Joe pressed his advantage. "What if…?"

"Stop it," said Mrs Bucket sharply, "Charlie's home and he's safe and Mr Wonka brought him back. No! I don't want to hear another word." Grandpa Joe, who had been about to point out that if it had not been for Mr Wonka Charlie would have been safe and home anyway, closed his jaw with a snap but continued to look stormily at Mr Wonka. Silence fell over them all.

"I…I have a lot to do." Wonka's voice was barely a whisper. Charlie was quite sure all of his grandparents were unaware of him speaking. "I'm glad you're ok, Charlie." And with that he left. Charlie tried to go after him but Grandpa Joe still had hold of his shoulder and Mrs Bucket now had taken a tight grip of his arm. He would not be going anywhere for a while.

It took a little while for things to settle down after Charlie's unscheduled disappearance. He slept for most of the day; his parents did not say a single word about him missing school. When he woke it was dark and he could hear the distinct sound of his grandparents snoring below. He lay there staring up at the ceiling and listening, because over the sound of sleepy grandparents was another noise, a much, much greater one. It was the rushing, roaring sound of a giant waterfall. Charlie grinned. Things really were returning to normal.

He slipped out of bed and tiptoed as quietly as he possibly could towards the front door.

"Charlie?" Charlie leapt about a foot in the air. When he came back down to earth he saw his father in the shadows.

"Sorry, Charlie. I didn't mean to scare you." Charlie's heart was going about five times faster than normal but he smiled. Mr Bucket looked at the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked casually.

"To see Mr Wonka," Charlie replied not sure whether he was allowed or not. Mr Bucket nodded slowly as if to say he thought so. He looked around.

"Your mother's asleep," he whispered, "So are your grandparents. They wouldn't like it if they knew I'd let you go out but…" He gave a little shrug and a wink. Charlie grinned.

"Thanks dad." He gave his father a brief, fierce hug and then dashed off.

Mr Wonka's day had been spent mostly sleeping too. He had not slept properly for far too long and all the tension and excitement of the previous night's searching had taken its toll. Unfortunately he had been plagued by dreams of poisoned chocolate which had done nothing for his nerves. He wished he could talk to Charlie but he was flat out afraid to go anywhere near the chocolate room while Grandpa Joe was there. He wasn't particularly keen to get near any of the family, as a matter of fact. He didn't like the way they kept looking at him. He _really_ wanted to talk to Charlie though.

There was a whole stack of newspapers beside him, all of them unread. He could not bear to look at them. He already knew there would be no good news for him in there and he didn't think he could take any more bad news. He felt very cold. _Odd._ The factory was never cold.

"Mr Wonka?" Wonka span round so sharply he nearly knocked Charlie right off his feet. He smiled, or tried to, his head felt strange, sort of empty.

"Mr Wonka?" There was a touch of alarm in Charlie's voice now. "Mr Wonka, is everything alright?" Wonka thought about this. He wanted to answer yes but he really did not feel alright. Then the whole world decided it would start spinning very, very fast.

Charlie watched the sun come up from Mr Wonka's bedroom window. Wonka had fallen asleep about an hour earlier and he had not so much as stirred since then. Charlie thought he looked very pale, not that that was unusual in itself, only this was a different kind of pale. He looked very tense too, like his mother did when she had one of her headaches. Charlie sighed. Now, on top of everything else Mr Wonka was ill. Well, Charlie thought, at least things couldn't get any worse.

Rose wound her scarf around her neck three or four times. It was a long scarf; her mother had knitted it for her a long time ago. It was pink, of course. She breathed in its scent. She thought she could smell her mother very faintly, buried deep in the stitches like a secret. She became so distracted by this new found discovery that she didn't realise that someone was speaking until they laughed loudly. She froze. She knew that laugh, if you could call it that. It sounded more like something being strangled. It was coming from just ahead.

"It's going to make headlines all over the world and that will be the last anyone ever hears of Wonka." Oh yes, there was no mistaking that voice. It was Slugworth, and it sounded like he was talking on the phone. Rose was rooted to the spot in fear.

"Oh yes, it's going to be perfect. I have it all arranged. Wilson? No, she knows nothing about any of it. She's proved most useful." Another laugh. "A week on Friday. Yes. Three boxes, guaranteed to reach over three hundred children. Yes. Yes. Yes." Slugworth must have been walking away because his voice grew fainter and fainter until Rose could no longer hear it at all. She felt sick. _A week on Friday._ _Three hundred children._ Suddenly Rose began to run. She ran as fast as she could and made it about halfway home before she stopped at a deserted bus stop and vomited into the bin.

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A/N: A big thank you to the readers and to the reviewers of this story! I'm going to try and aim for a shorter update time for the next chapter, fingers crossed it will be out in about a week's time :) 


	19. Empty reserves

A/N: I'm so proud of myself, look at this speedy update!

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_Chapter 18: Empty reserves _

Mrs Bucket's homemade chicken soup had gone cold. Charlie looked at the congealing liquid sadly. Mr Wonka had so far been most resistant to any attempt to bring him back to full health. The only thing he was doing was staying in bed, but that was mainly because he did not appear to have much of a choice in the matter. Charlie found this to be the most worrying thing of all, however. He knew Mr Wonka had to be seriously ill to not have attempted to go back to work once in the last twenty four hours. Leaving him to go to school had been excruciating but he had posted Grandpa Joe and his mother in his place, according to them Wonka had only woken once and not for very long. Charlie sighed; they had said he would be better by the time he got home! He had run out of ideas. If this went on much longer he would have to call a doctor. As if in response to this thought Wonka's eyes opened. He looked momentarily startled and then, when he saw Charlie, he relaxed. He made absolutely no attempt to sit up.

"How are you feeling, Mr Wonka? Would you like me to get you anything?" Charlie was on the edge of his seat, ready to do whatever Wonka asked him to do.

"No, Charlie." Wonka closed his eyes as he spoke which made Charlie bite his lip.

"I can get you anything," he said almost pleadingly.

"I don't want anything, Charlie." But Charlie was still not satisfied. How could he be? Mr Wonka was his best friend, and he was ill, he would not be satisfied until he was completely well again. He sounded strange too, but Charlie could not quite put his finger on what was different.

"Mr Wonka?" Wonka sighed heavily, his whole body aching with the effort. Charlie's voice seemed to be coming from a very long way off. The words were slow and distorted like he was shouting them from the top of fudge mountain. He wanted to ask Charlie to come closer or speak more loudly but his own thoughts did not seem to be making it out of his mouth in the same way they usually did so he settled with, "Mmm?"

"Mr Wonka, I think you should see a doc…" Wonka's eyes opened which made Charlie stop mid-word. For an instant Charlie was sure that his friend was going to get up and announce that he was quite well after all but that illusion shattered when Wonka's eyes glazed over slightly and he sighed again.

"Charlie?" he whispered.

"Yes, Mr Wonka." Charlie leaned closer to the bed, his hands gripping his chair so tightly it hurt. But Mr Wonka never answered. He closed his lilac eyes and fell into another dreamless, agitated sleep.

Rose could still taste bile in her mouth. It had been hours since her stomach had contained anything to bring up but she could not stop herself from retching. Every muscle ached and she was drenched in cold sweat from head to foot. She had been shaking uncontrollably for the last hour on the bathroom floor and there were tears continually snaking their way down her face. She could hear someone whimpering. It took her a while before she realised the sound was coming from her. She was so afraid, so desperately afraid of the plan Slugworth had put in motion. But she had tried to tell Charlie Bucket, and surely he must have tried to tell Mr Wonka. Or had he forgotten to tell him? Maybe they had simply laughed at her from their glass contraption. Rose felt the tears run more freely than ever. Being useless had upset her before but never like this because now she was worse than useless. Now if she did not do something children would be hurt. Innocent children. Before Rose could think another thing her stomach heaved once more and she was forced to endure the agony of dry retching once again.

The Oompa Loompa with the stethoscope around his neck had already spent half an hour taking measurements and observing a sleeping Mr Wonka. Charlie could not imagine what he was doing but he hardly breathed for fear of interrupting what was clearly important work. When the Oompa Loompa finally turned Charlie almost toppled off his chair so anxious was he to hear what he had to say.

"I'm unable to provide a proper diagnosis." Charlie frowned, disappointed.

"Why not?" he asked. The Oompa Loompa's eyes widened slightly as if he was not used to such insolence.

"Because I am not a trained doctor," he said plainly, "It is my suspicion that the patient is suffering from some kind of illness, further than that I cannot say." Charlie resisted the temptation to sigh.

"Ok," he said, "Thank you for your time." The Oompa Loompa nodded and departed, tucking his clipboard under his arm as he went. Charlie watched him go and then turned back to Mr Wonka who had not stirred at all. Tentatively Charlie reached over and touched Wonka's forehead. The skin was warm, too warm. This was becoming more serious now. Charlie bit his lip. It was time to get his mother again.

Mrs Bucket, Mr Bucket and Grandpa Joe were all standing around Mr Wonka's bed with Charlie sitting on the chair beside it, his face upturned to them all searching for an answer in one of their faces. It was his mother he focused on primarily; she always seemed to know what to do in situations such as these.

"Charlie," she said in a very quiet voice so as not to disturb Mr Wonka, "When was the last time you can say for sure that Mr Wonka slept?" Charlie had to think very hard about that one. He was not sure he could honestly come up with an answer that was within the last fortnight. Mr Bucket peered into Wonka's face.

"Charlie, when was the last time Mr Wonka ate a decent meal?" Charlie screwed up his eyes in the effort of thinking but again, an answer evaded him. Grandpa Joe scanned the room taking in the piles of newspapers everywhere.

"Charlie, Mr Wonka still hasn't figured out what went wrong with his chocolate, has he?" This was one question Charlie could answer though he wished he could change the words he was about to say.

"No, grandpa," he said sadly, "He hasn't." Grandpa Joe, Mr Bucket and Mrs Bucket all looked at each other confirming something between them that Charlie felt excluded from. He waited patiently for them to explain but inside he was screaming.

"We think Mr Wonka's been working too hard," said Mrs Bucket at last, "And when grown ups work too hard sometimes they don't look after themselves properly and that makes them ill." Charlie listened attentively waiting for the past about Mr Wonka getting better, preferably very quickly. Mrs Bucket looked at her husband who took over.

"Charlie, it might be a good idea if a doctor…"

"No," said Charlie quietly but firmly, "Mr Wonka wouldn't like it."

"It would be for the best, Charlie," said Grandpa Joe but Charlie knew what he had to do. He shook his head.

"Mr Wonka wouldn't like it," he repeated. Grandpa Joe sighed.

"Then there's nothing for it," he said, "We'll just have to look after him ourselves." To his surprise, young Charlie beamed. Evidently he had been waiting for someone to make this suggestion for some time.

"Yes," said Mrs Bucket, "That's what we'll do but now Charlie you've got to get to bed. You've got school in the morning." She raised her hand to silence Charlie's protests. "Mr Wonka will be ill whether you're at school or not, and he wouldn't want you to miss out on your education because of him." Charlie wasn't so sure about that but he knew better than to argue. He kissed each member of his family goodnight and, with one last look at Mr Wonka, he disappeared in the direction of the Bucket house. The moment he was gone Wonka gave a soft moan.

If Rose's mother had been alive she would have been devastated by the state of her daughter, although if she had been alive things would not have gone so rapidly downhill so quickly. It was as if her death had removed all the stops that prevented Rose from sliding into full scale oblivion. Her health had reached such a point that she should have called a doctor but doctors were people and people were terrifying, so terrifying that the idea of calling one had not even crossed Rose's mind. She had finally stopped dry retching, after almost twelve hours, but the damage had been done. Every intake of breath caused pain to shoot through her aching muscles and her throat burned with every swallow and yet now, as her thoughts began to rearrange themselves into order, she was almost beginning to wish that she could keep continuing to be violently ill. At least that took her mind off the grave situation she was faced with.

She was shaking so badly she could barely walk. She had to cling to the doorframes as much as she could just to get to her living room. When she got there she found that she was unable to do what she had intended to do owing to the fact that letters were very hard to write when you could not hold a pen straight. The temptation to curl up on the sofa was almost unbearably painful but she fought against it and staggered towards the phone. She couldn't just bury her head in the sand this time. This was about more than one man's reputation, it was about more than one woman's business; she had to do something. She didn't let herself think, she simply dialled in the number for the operator and forced herself to keep the phone to her ear. She had to do this. She had to do this. She had to do this.

Wonka was not entirely sure whether he was awake or asleep. He seemed to be suspended in a kind of heavy liquid that weighed down heavily upon him and gave him the strange feeling of being underwater and in space all at the same time. He could not remember creating anything that gave such an effect. Had he tried something that had gone wrong? Had he stepped into a room he hadn't entered before? A sudden increase of temperature made him squirm. He didn't like this feeling; he didn't like it at all. He wanted it to end right now. Charlie would know what to do.

Mrs Bucket looked up when Wonka murmured Charlie's name. The chocolatier did not appear to be awake but he looked restless like he was having a bad dream or something similar. The maternal instincts within Mrs Bucket took full charge of her as she leaned forwards and gently laid her palm over Wonka's forehead. He was far too hot.

"It's alright," she said gently. She was not expecting the response she received. Wonka froze at her touch as if suddenly petrified. He did not relax even when she removed her hand but remained perfectly still like he was hoping that he would become invisible if he stayed that way long enough. Mrs Bucket's brow creased with concern as she realised that she knew how to deal with a sick child, but a sick Wonka might prove to be an entirely different thing altogether.

Charlie was woken by knocking at the door. He reluctantly opened his eyes sure that he had only been asleep for a few hours at most. He was right, it was still dark and when he pressed the illumination button on his alarm clock the exact hour of the morning horrified him. Who could be knocking at the door! He heard the door creak open and his father's bleary voice, then someone else. Charlie listened hard. It sounded like an Oompa Loompa. Charlie slipped out of bed and tip toed closer.

"What?" said Mr Bucket, his sleepy brain had not taken in a single word the Oompa Loompa had said. The Oompa Loompa huffed impatiently.

"I have a message," she repeated sternly, "A very important message for Mr Charlie Bucket and he is to respond at once."

"Charlie?" said Mr Bucket through a giant yawn, "But he's asleep at the…"

"No, dad, I'm not." Charlie appeared beside his father, his face pale in the darkness. His father may not have picked up the Oompa Loompas grave tone but Charlie had. Something was wrong, he just knew it. The Oompa Loompa turned to Charlie and proceeded to ignore Mr Bucket completely.

"You had a phone call, Mr Charlie Bucket," she said, "And the caller left an urgent message. She says she has information of a terrible nature concerning Mr Wonka and she beseeches you to meet her at the earliest possible convenience."

"Who?" asked Mr Bucket.

"Rose Wilson," said Charlie and the Oompa Loompa together. This did not clear anything up for Mr Bucket whose brain worked at half the speed in the middle of the night.

"Who?" he asked again but Charlie and the Oompa Loompa had more pressing matters to attend to than answering his question.

"Did she give any more details?" Charlie asked in a worried voice. The Oompa Loompa shook her head.

"That's the whole message," she said with a shrug. Charlie looked up at his father and this time Mr Bucket understood something without being told.

"Oh no," he said, "You're going back to bed. What would your mother say if I let you go out at this time of night! I'm sure whatever Miss Wilson has to say can wait until tomorrow." Charlie did not argue but he understood for the first time what Mr Wonka had meant by families hanging over you like an old dead goose.

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A/N: Thank you to everyone who's got this far! Off to London tomorrow to see a few sights, it's terrible but when you live so near a place you never appreciate it as much as you do somewhere far away that you visit. I'm going to do my best to correct that tomorrow. Thenit'll be a desperate quest to make the most of every day before I go back to uni. There just aren't enough days! Anyway...thanks again! Next chapter up as soon as possible.


	20. Discovery

A/N: Well, I'm updating earlier than I thought I would! I think there's about three more chapters to go so we're hitting the home straight :).

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_Chapter 19: Discovery _

Wilbur Wonka looked oddly magnified, like he had grown a good couple of feet since the last time his son had seen him. He had a huge, rotating drill in one hand and he was advancing slowly. Willy tried to back away but he seemed to already be up against a wall. No, not a wall, it was soft, leathery…a chair. Oh no. He knew this chair, he knew this feeling…but no, he didn't have…Wonka raised his hand to his mouth fearfully. The moment his ungloved fingers touched metal he freaked and bolted out of the chair. Only there was no chair, there was no father advancing on him, there was nothing but darkness.

"Oh," he said aloud and then a wave of nausea hit him and he lay back down again. Wonka's mind was spinning like the churning chocolate river only the chocolate was supposed to spin and churn, his mind was most certainly not. It was only after this feeling faded that he realised how cold he was. But how could that be? He was in bed, he was in his room, in his factory; it was never cold. He needed answers.

"Charlie?" Somebody stirred close by but Wonka could tell immediately that it was not Charlie, it was someone larger.

"Mr Wonka, are you awake?" That seemed to be a foolish question, why would he have spoken if he was not awake? He opened his mouth to say that exact thing but instead of fully formed words only a strange croak came out. It startled him so much that he shut his mouth with a snap.

"Oh dear." Light filled the room and Wonka saw the tired face of Mrs Bucket looking down at him. Not as scary as his father, admittedly, but it wasn't nice to have anyone looming over you. "I don't suppose you're feeling at your best, Mr Wonka. Would you like a drink?" Wonka shook his head. The light was hurting his eyes, and that was making his head hurt. Mrs Bucket seemed to understand.

"Perhaps it would be best if you tried to get back to sleep," she said gently, "Charlie will be here in the morning." Charlie. Wonka closed his eyes. He would sleep now, and then Charlie would put everything right in the morning. Yes, Charlie would put everything right again.

Charlie was up before six. He had barely slept at all but had forced himself to stay in bed. He knew he would not be allowed to go and see Rose Wilson before everyone else was awake, so as soon as he heard movement below he leapt up. Grandpa Joe looked astonished to see him not only awake but dressed and ready.

"Good morning Charlie," he said trying not to yawn as he did so. He was only awake because Grandma Georgina had been snoring so loudly. "Did Grandma Georgina wake you up too?"

"No Grandpa," said Charlie. He fidgeted slightly on the spot. Grandpa Joe watched him and grew suspicious.

"What's the matter, Charlie?" he asked when he could stand it no longer. Charlie raised his eyes slowly to meet his grandpa's. They were full of hope; pure, innocent hope.

"Grandpa, may I go and see Miss Wilson?" Grandpa Joe stared at his grandson for a second.

"See her?" he asked blankly, "Now?" Charlie nodded.

"It's urgent," he added.

"But…" Grandpa Joe rolled up his pyjama sleeve but found no watch underneath. "What's the time?"

"Ten past six," replied Charlie promptly.

"Ten past six!"

"Please grandpa." Charlie grabbed hold of his grandpa's hand and squeezed it. "She knows something, grandpa, and I think it might be important."

"Knows something? About…?"

"About the poisoned chocolate, grandpa." Grandpa Joe took a deep breath and then shook his head, he saw Charlie's face fall even before he had said anything.

"I can't let you go to Miss Wilson's house on your own, Charlie. What would your father say? Or better yet, your mother!" Charlie looked like he might burst into tears. The poor child was close to breaking point.

"But if you give me five minutes I'll come with you." The transformation was instant. Charlie seemed to grow about two feet. He enveloped Grandpa Joe in a bone crushing hug.

"You'd better let go of me soon, Charlie, or I'll never be able to get ready!"

It took Grandpa Joe a little longer than five minutes to get ready but with Charlie waiting impatiently by the door he had no incentive to dawdle. They set off out of the Chocolate room, Grandpa Joe naturally assuming they were heading for the front gates but they took a right turn instead of a left.

"Where are you going, Charlie?"

"To the glass elevator, grandpa. I don't know where Miss Wilson lives." Grandpa Joe frowned.

"And the elevator does?" Charlie nodded and smiled, glad that Grandpa Joe had cottoned on so quickly. Grandpa Joe gave Charlie a weak smile which faded once Charlie had looked away. He couldn't help thinking that maybe a little too much of Mr Wonka was rubbing off on the boy. If Charlie noticed his grandpa's look of concern he said nothing. He seemed to know exactly which button to press and no sooner had he done so than the elevator lurched forwards making Grandpa Joe very glad he had not had time for breakfast. They were soon shooting upwards. Grandpa Joe remembered the first time they had done this, with a laughing Mr Wonka in front of them. He had truly believed they were going to die, but, just like this time, they had burst out of the factory into the world beyond.

"I've been wanting to press that button for years," Wonka had said then. How strange, to lock yourself away yet still reach for what lies outside.

"Look grandpa." Charlie's voice jogged Grandpa Joe from his thoughts. He looked to where Charlie was pointing and saw they were flying towards a thicket of trees that almost completely hid a house from view, a house with very pink walls.

"I think that's where Miss Wilson lives." Charlie pressed another button on the elevator wall and they began to descend. As they did so Charlie ran through what he knew about the situation so far. Wonka chocolate had been found that was making people ill, Mr Wonka had no idea what could be causing it, Miss Wilson had mentioned the name Slugworth and had sent an urgent message for him to meet her. The doors slid open. Charlie wondered briefly what Terry was doing this morning. Was he watching TV? Maybe he was eating breakfast? Certainly he wasn't about to knock on the door of a stranger trying to get to the bottom of a mystery that was hurting his best friend.

"Charlie?"

"I'm ready, grandpa. Let's go."

Rose's hands were shaking as she made her way to the door. Someone had knocked upon it three times now which generally meant they were pretty intent on getting an answer. The floor kept tilting at dangerous angles but somehow Rose managed to remain on her feet. If it was Slugworth she would collapse at the sight of him, she was sure of it. Trembling from head to foot, she crept closer to the spy hole and peered through it.

"Perhaps she is out, Charlie," said Grandpa Joe when Charlie's third round of knocking had garnered no response, but Charlie was not about to give up.

"It's half six in the morning, grandpa. Why would she be out so early?" he said stoutly. There was no way he was going back to the factory without the information he had come for. If Rose knew something then he would wait here all week if he had to. To make his point he sat down on the cold step and stared back out down the overgrown garden path. Grandpa Joe heaved a great sigh of resolution and was about to take the spot beside Charlie when they were both startled by the sudden opening of the front door.

Grandpa Joe was sure he had never seen such a pathetic creature before in his life. She seemed more frightened animal than woman. Her eyes appeared huge in her head, and that illusion was only amplified by the dark circles that surrounded them. Her dirty blonde hair hung limply down to her shoulders and looked like it had been neither washed nor combed for days. She wore a grubby pink cardigan that, from the way it hung off her bony frame, looked to be about five sizes too big for her. Grandpa Joe could not help a little cry of shock.

"Holy Buckets!" The woman, Rose he supposed, gave a start like a rabbit at the sound of a gun and for a moment it looked as if she might slam the door in their faces but before that could happen Charlie had leapt to his feet.

"Miss Wilson, do you remember me?" Rose nodded dumbly then looked up at Grandpa Joe fearfully. Charlie took hold of his Grandpa's hand to show that he was not a threat.

"Miss Wilson, this is my Grandpa Joe." Charlie thought Rose might have tried a smile but if she did it evidently got lost somewhere on the journey.

"Is it alright if my grandpa hears what you have to say too?" Charlie asked. Rose swallowed, and bit her lip, clearly thinking, then finally she nodded and she stepped backwards. They were allowed in.

Rose had not neglected her house as much as she had neglected herself. Grandpa Joe was surprised to see that the living room they were led too was neat and tidy and, above all, spotlessly clean. Rose, scuttling like a beetle, kept her eyes on both of her guests at all times so that Grandpa Joe felt like he was being accused of something. All in all, the atmosphere was not one that invited relaxation. Rose indicated that they should sit down so Grandpa Joe headed over to a chair which looked like it would be comfortable. He had barely got close to it when there was a squeak from behind him. He turned to see Rose, her expression one of horror, her hand stretched out towards him.

"Please," she whispered, "Don't sit there." Grandpa Joe backed away quickly, more than a little unnerved. Rose did not relax even when they were all seated and her eyes kept returning to the only vacant chair as if she wished that she could see someone sitting there. Grandpa Joe began to feel distinctly uneasy. Charlie cleared his throat quietly but Rose still jumped like someone had fired off a starting pistol. Her hands began to twist over themselves compulsively. She swallowed and then spoke in the tiniest of tiny voices.

"Thank you for coming. I…I didn't know what else to do." The woman sounded frightened out of her wits. Grandpa Joe shot a quick look at Charlie who looked back at him, his eyes full of concern.

"If I'd known what was going to happen, I never would have…" Rose's bottom lip began to tremble. "None of it was my idea."

"None of what?" asked Grandpa Joe, unable to stop himself. Rose looked up and then got to her feet. She crossed the room and pulled open a drawer. From it she pulled a newspaper. She smoothed out the front page and slowly walked back towards them. She handed the newspaper to Charlie who spread it out on his lap. The headline was horribly familiar.

"Those children," said Rose pointing at the article, "He did it."

"Who?" asked Charlie, "Slugworth?" Rose nodded.

"Slugworth poisoned those children and blamed it on Wonka?" Grandpa Joe said. Rose nodded again, her fingers fiddling with one of the buttons on her cardigan. Grandpa Joe looked once again at the article, his expression appalled.

"But what has that got to do with you?" asked Charlie. Rose's fingers slipped and she began to tremble. When she spoke it was so quiet Charlie could not hear her.

"Sorry?" he said.

"I work for him," she repeated a little more loudly, pink tingeing her cheeks.

"WHAT!" Grandpa Joe roared. Rose's face lost what little colour it had gained and before Charlie could do anything she swayed on the spot and collapsed.

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A/N: So...what did you think?

I've just finished Malorie Blackman's 'Noughts and Crosses' trilogy. If you're stuck for something to read, check it out! It's really, really amazing. Very intense and thought provoking.

Thank you for reviewing, thank you for reading. You guys are awesome. Thank you.


	21. Coming Together

A/N: Wow. So busy. Finally found time to update!

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_Chapter 20: Coming together_

Mr Wonka coughed himself awake. When the attack subsided he stared up at the ceiling for a moment or two wondering whether cough drops could really be considered candy when they tasted so vile. He had meant to invent some pleasant ones but he hadn't had a cough in so long he had clean forgotten such a thing existed. Feeling worse than an Oompa Loompa after a year deprived of cocoa beans, he threw the covers of his bed aside and got up. The floor was cold. Where were his slippers? Ah, there. He pulled on his dressing gown too and, to top the look nicely, he pulled his top hat onto his wild bed hair. In this bedraggled and sorry state he shuffled to the door. He hadn't managed to get more than five paces down the corridor before another coughing fit overtook him and he was forced to wait for it to subside before moving on. By the time he reached the glass elevator he was beginning to think that standing up had not been the wisest plan of action. Still, he had got this far. One button and a short elevator ride later and he would be outside the Bucket house where he would at least get a warm welcome from Charlie.

"Mr Wonka, what are you doing out of bed?" Mrs Bucket asked rather sharply as soon as she opened the door. Mr Wonka held up his hand and opened his mouth to answer but the sight of his hand without its customary glove threw him off completely. For some reason this set off another bout of coughing and by the time this was over Mr Wonka found himself staring at almost every member of the Bucket family.

"Er…hi," he said uncertainly.

"You don't look sound so good, Mr Wonka," said Grandma Josephine with kind concern in her eyes.

"He doesn't sound great either," said Grandpa George whose tone implied the coughing had offended him in some way. Mr Wonka ignored them all. There were two faces missing and he got the distinct impression he knew that if he found one he would find the other. Before he could ask however, Mr and Mrs Bucket exchanged a significant look.

"I think I should take you back to bed, Mr Wonka," said Mrs Bucket with a gentle smile, "You're really not doing yourself any good." But Mr Wonka shrugged off her offer of assistance.

"Where's Charlie?" he asked. The whole family seemed to freeze; even Mrs Bucket's smile flickered.

"He's gone out," she answered finally, "With Grandpa Joe." Fair enough, thought Wonka, pretty predictable stuff, so why did the old people all look like they were balanced on eggshells? His eyes narrowed.

"Where?" he asked. Mr Bucket made a funny noise with his throat that made everyone look round but he lost his nerve and shrank back behind his wife once more.

"They thought they'd take a walk as it's such a nice day," said Mrs Bucket over-brightly, "Now, how about that bed?" Wonka dug in his heels, a difficult thing to do in slippers. He was ill, darn it, he was in no mood to be messed about with.

"No," he said stubbornly, "I want to know where Charlie is."

"See, I told you this would happen," said Grandpa George.

"Sssh!" said everyone else except for Grandma Georgina who seemed to have fallen asleep standing up. Mr Wonka was about to give a triumphant 'Aha!' when he was seized, once again, by the need to cough. Mrs Bucket's anxious expression immediately changed back to one of sympathy. She stepped forward and attempted to take Mr Wonka's arm. His reaction was one of utter revulsion. He backed away holding his arm to him as if worried she might try and make a wild snatch at it, his eyes wide. Grandpa George sighed loudly which earned him more than one sharp look.

"I don't know why we can't just tell him that Charlie has gone to that Rose woman's house," he said grumpily, "Then we can all just go back to eating breakfast." Wonka stared at him quite unable to believe what he had just heard. Mrs Bucket bit her lip terrified that he was going to break down or something.

"What did you say?" he whispered. If he had not already been so pale Mrs Bucket was sure he would have gone completely white.

"I said Charlie has gone…" began Grandpa George but before he could get any further Mr Bucket let out a little cry and put his hand firmly over his father's mouth. He shot a small apologetic smile over to his wife but the damage was done.

"Mr Wonka, where are you going?" called Mrs Bucket after the chocolatier who had spun round and was now walking very fast back towards the glass elevator. He did not answer; in fact he probably did not even hear her. He knew where he had to go now, and being ill was not going to stop him. If Charlie was with Rose Wilson then that is exactly where he would go too.

Charlie was on his knees on the carpet gently slapping Rose's pale face but nothing happened. Grandpa Joe was watching from above, his knees not being up to bending around too much.

"She's still out cold, grandpa," said Charlie a hint of panic in his voice, "What are we going to do?" Grandpa Joe looked around for something they could use to wake the poor woman up. He was just thinking that a hot bowl of soup or something similar might do the trick when the room began to shake. Charlie leapt to his feet as Rose's ornaments began to shake on their shelves. Before Charlie could even ask what was going on the shaking stopped and there was a loud knock at the door. Grandpa Joe and Charlie both looked at each other.

"Should we open it?" whispered Charlie.

"I don't see why not," said Grandpa Joe stepping forward but Charlie grabbed his arm.

"What if it's Slugworth?" Grandpa Joe hesitated. He hadn't thought of that.

"Ok," he said dropping his voice down low, "Let's take a peek." He had seen that Rose had one of those peep holes in her door so she could see who was there before she answered it. If Slugworth was on the doorstep they would just keep the door closed. Simple. Together he and Charlie tip toed to the front door.

"Who is it, grandpa? Is it Slugworth?" Grandpa Joe pressed his eye to the hole.

"No!" he cried in surprise, "It's Mr Wonka!" Charlie did not waste another second. Grandpa Joe barely had time to leap out of the way before his grandson was pulling open the door.

Mr Wonka might have been expecting to see Charlie but he hadn't expected him to open the door. Such a small difference threw him out completely. He became aware of how cold it was standing outside in a dressing gown and slippers and of how badly he wanted to lie down.

"Charlie?" That one word trembled with confusion.

"It's alright," said Charlie gently, "We can explain but right now we need your help. Do you know how to wake people up when they've passed out?"

Rose felt the strangest of sensations, almost like she was returning to her body after a temporary absence. She lay completely afraid to move in case it hurt when she moved.

"I don't know…maybe the Oompa Loompas could do something." Her mind must have been shaken by the fall. There wasn't any such thing as Oompa Loompas.

"She looks like you did before you came to live in the factory, Charlie. It's clear she hasn't been eating enough chocolate." Chocolate. The word swam around Rose's brain and had a curious warming effect on her limbs. She finally felt like she had the strength to join the world. She opened her eyes.

Mr Wonka was leaning over to examine the patient. Prescribing chocolate as the cure seemed to be sensible but he had not brought any with him. Foolish, very foolish. He was just wondering what alternative he could use in the meantime when the face he was staring into suddenly stirred and a pair of eyes opened and looked straight into his own. He leapt back with a squeak.

"Oh, you did it, Mr Wonka!" cried Charlie happily, "She's awake!" He hurried forwards. "Are you alright, Miss Wilson?" Rose scrambled to her feet.

"M-M-Mr Wonka?" she stammered clearly recognising the man who was now behind Grandpa Joe. Wonka gave a start at being addressed.

"Don't worry," said Charlie quickly but Rose was already backing away.

"I...I didn't mean to," she said in a terrified whisper, "He…he didn't tell me the truth." Charlie tried again to intervene.

"Please, Miss Wilson, nobody's angry. We need to know whatever you can tell us." Rose looked at him and then she burst into tears and ran into the kitchen where they could hear her sobbing frantically. Mr Wonka looked completely stunned by her display.

"Charlie, what's wrong with her?" he asked looking apprehensive as if he thought whatever was ailing her might be catching.

"She's afraid," said Charlie wisely, "Sit down, Mr Wonka, and I'll tell you what she's told us so far." Mr Wonka did as he was told and listened as Charlie told him all about Slugworth poisoning the chocolate. He had just reached the part about Rose working for him when she reappeared, her face blotchy from crying. Everyone turned to look at her including Mr Wonka whose lilac eyes had hardened as soon as he had learnt that Rose Wilson worked for his greatest enemy, and to think earlier he had wanted to waste his precious chocolate on her!

Rose cautiously re-entered the room. She had heard Charlie try to paint her in a good light but by the look of things he had failed. Mr Wonka looked as if he would dearly like to get the opportunity to knock her out again. Rose's heart sank to the floor. She had taken heart, strangely enough, from Mr Wonka's lack of appropriate dress. She had allowed herself to believe that he would think kindly of her. She had been wrong, as usual. She was just about to try to speak when Mr Wonka's expression changed and he began to cough. It was a minute or so before calm was restored. Rose was speaking before she knew it.

"I have some cough syrup, if you want it." Mr Wonka looked at her as if she had just suggested he eat frog's liver. He did not answer. Charlie gave her a small smile which might have been an apology. Grandpa Joe cleared his throat which made Mr Wonka jump. Rose waited for him to speak with her eyes fixed firmly on her feet.

"Miss Wilson," he said, "Do you know anything else about Slugworth's plot to put Mr Wonka out of business?" Mr Wonka blanched. Rose continued to stare at the floor as she spoke.

"He…he said it would happen next Friday." She heard Mr Wonka let out a little cry of protest before Charlie managed to subdue him.

"And he said three hundred children would be affected."

"She's lying." Rose looked up and met those cold lilac eyes once more. She could not defend herself.

"I don't think she is, Mr Wonka," said Charlie but Mr Wonka would hear none of it. He sniffed and then, for the first time, he addressed Rose directly.

"Why should we trust you? If I was you and you were me, would you trust you?" Rose frowned.

"No, but…"

"Ah!" said Mr Wonka holding up one hand for silence, "Charlie, I think it's time we went back to the factory. We don't need her help."

"But Mr Wonka…"

"Come along, Charlie," said Mr Wonka shortly and Charlie fell silent. His shoulders fell but when Mr Wonka stood up he did too. Grandpa Joe couldn't meet Rose's eye as he passed her.

"But…" began Rose again. Panic was rising inside her. They couldn't go. She couldn't let this happen! "But I know where Slugworth is hiding the poisoned chocolate!" Charlie, Grandpa Joe and Mr Wonka froze in their tracks. Charlie was the first to turn round. His young face was shining with excitement.

"Can you show us?" Rose swallowed while she considered her answer. She had to do this, then she would be free, then she would never have to leave her house again. Very slowly, she nodded.

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A/N: Not much of the story left to go. Two or three chapters, I think. It's hard to tell :-P

Hope you're still enjoying it. I'm sorry I couldn't reply to all your reviews like I normally do. Thank you to you all!


	22. Into the lion's den

A/N: Hey there Wonka fans:-) Hope you've been having a good week. It's Friday! YAY! Ok, enough from me...

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_Chapter 21: Into the lion's den_

"Well, I'm not going anywhere dressed like this," said Mr Wonka petulantly (no one pointed out the obvious fact that he had already gone somewhere). After much silence and awkwardness Charlie made the arrangement that they would meet in an hour and go in search of Slugworth's warehouse together. Privately he was hoping he could convince Mr Wonka to stay behind. He really did not look well and a stressful trip to recover poisoned chocolate was not going to do him any good at all. Charlie suspected that Rose would feel more comfortable if he didn't come too, but there was no persuading Mr Wonka.

"Of course I'm coming," he said indignantly as the glass elevator came to a stop outside the golden doors marked with two W's, "This is my factory's reputation at stake!" And with that he disappeared into his rooms to get dressed. Charlie looked at Grandpa Joe who shrugged to say 'you tried'.

"Are you coming, grandpa?" Charlie asked as they crossed the peppermint grass towards the Bucket house. Grandpa Joe's response surprised him.

"No, I don't think so, Charlie. If I spend much more time with that Rose woman I might go as crazy as she is."

"I don't think she's crazy, grandpa. Maybe she's just been alone too long."

"Yeah, well," said Grandpa Joe, "There might be a good reason for that." Charlie said nothing. It was true, Rose Wilson was not what you might call a normal woman but she was trying to help them. Charlie wondered how she could have become entangled with a man like Slugworth. They certainly didn't seem the type to work together normally.

Rose stepped into the shower. As she massaged shampoo into her hair she began to feel a bit better. True, she was nervous to the point of not being able to stop her hands from shaking but she also felt a sense of achievement. No matter what happened now she was trying her best. Twenty minutes later she stood in front of the mirror. There was no disguising her pale face or the fact that all her clothes were at least two sizes too big for her but at least she looked better than she had done in the morning.

"You look beautiful, darling." Rose span round, her heart beating wildly but there was no one there. Her eyes fell on the picture of her mother on the bedside table.

_"You look beautiful." _

Mr Wonka waited impatiently for Charlie to say goodbye to all his relatives. It suddenly seemed like there were hundreds of Buckets all clamouring to tell Charlie to be careful. In truth, Mr Wonka was surprised Mrs Bucket was letting him go but, as Charlie had pointed out, if he was going to be in charge of the factory one day then he needed to know how to defend it against unscrupulous enemies. What Wonka decided not to tell anyone was that he had never done anything remotely like this before and he wasn't at all sure what was expected of him. Still, walking into a warehouse and taking back some chocolate didn't sound too hard. Something pulled lightly on his right trouser leg. Looking down Mr Wonka saw an Oompa Loompa looking up.

"Oh, that was quick, do you have what I asked for?" The Oompa Loompa nodded gravely and handed Wonka a small package.

"Perfect!" Wonka slipped it into his pocket and resumed his wait for Charlie. Two minutes later and the boy was tearing towards him apologies already streaming from his lips. Wonka held up his hand to stop him. He had heard enough apologies from Charlie to last a lifetime.

"Isn't Grandpa Joe coming?" Charlie shook his head.

"It's just us," he said. Mr Wonka was about to say 'oh, good!' when he felt a strange hollow sensation take over.

"Mr Wonka?"

"Quite alright, Charlie," said Wonka and he pressed the right button on the wall beside him, "Let's go, shall we?"

Rose was standing outside her little house waiting for them. She eyed the glass elevator very nervously but Charlie was glad to see she did not back away or start to cry as they landed. The doors of the elevator opened and Charlie stepped out expecting Mr Wonka to be close behind him but Mr Wonka did not move. There was a strange expression on his face that Charlie did not understand and he was looking straight at Rose. Rose was timidly meeting his eyes but her face was beginning to match her scarf. Clearly, Charlie thought, she did not understand Mr Wonka any more than he did. The spell was only broken when Rose spoke.

"I…I thought we could walk there."

"Good idea," said Charlie looking back at Mr Wonka to see what he thought. Mr Wonka was looking extremely confused but when he saw Charlie looking at him he smiled so suddenly Rose let out a soft gasp.

"Er…shall we go?" said Charlie uncertainly.

"Yep, yes, absolutely," said Mr Wonka, "Lead on."

They made a strange group walking down the street but the roads were quiet and the few people on the pavements seemed keen on pretending that they saw such sights every day. Charlie walked in between Rose and Mr Wonka occasionally looking between the two. Rose remained with her hands deep in her coat pockets, her whole body trying to make itself look smaller. Mr Wonka had apparently forgotten they were on a serious mission. He had an absent smile on his face and was swinging his cane in what could only be described as a jovial manner. Charlie couldn't begin to guess why he was suddenly happy with the idea of following Rose's instructions but he supposed it had to be a good thing. None of them spoke a word. Both Rose and Mr Wonka's expressions changed when they turned a corner and were faced by a huge rectangular monstrosity which Charlie supposed had to be…

"Slugworth's factory," said Mr Wonka coldly. Rose nodded. It was as they were stood there that Charlie felt a cold shiver down his spine. He looked around. There was no one there but still he felt uncertain.

"Mr Wonka….do you think we should be doing this?"

"What do you mean, Charlie? Don't you want to stop Slugworth?"

"Of course I do, but…"

"Well then, let's not waste any more time." And without further ado he proceeded towards the building in front of them. Rose hurried after him and Charlie, not wanting to be left behind, had to run to catch up. They came to a huge locked gate. It was a Saturday which meant all the workers were at home and production was halted until Monday morning. Mr Wonka evidently disapproved by the look on his face, never mind that it made things easier for them.

"How do we get in?" asked Charlie. The chain and lock looked pretty sturdy.

"There's another way," said Rose quietly as if she was afraid of being overheard. Mr Wonka gave the closed gate another disdainful look before following Rose through a little alleyway at the end of which was a thin metal door. As Rose got closer to it she removed her hands from her pockets and in one Charlie saw the glint of a silver key. Once again that uneasy feeling made him look back the way they had come.

"Something wrong, Charlie?" said Mr Wonka cheerfully. This adventure seemed to be doing him the power of good. Charlie just couldn't understand it.

The door creaked as it opened which made Rose wince. Mr Wonka bounced on his heels and Charlie listened for the sound of footsteps but there were none. For the moment, at least, it seemed like they had gained entry undetected.

"Er…Miss Wilson? What would happen if we were caught in here?" Charlie asked. He couldn't believe he had only just thought of asking! Rose shivered but didn't say a word. Charlie thought that was answer enough.

Mr Wonka was thoroughly enjoying himself. It really did seem very, very easy. And it was quite exciting all this sneaking about. The only problem was that hollow feeling was creeping up on him again and he was finding it harder to ignore it. He didn't know exactly what would happen if the hollow feeling took over completely but he wasn't overly keen on finding out. Better they got all of this over with so they could get back to the factory before that happened. Rose signalled for them to proceed in silence before she disappeared through the doorway and into the dark room within.

Slugworth's - he was loathe to even refer to it as a factory - was nothing like his beloved factory. Everything was grey and cold. Wonka didn't like it. It became more and more like a maze as they pressed on with pointless twists and turns leading to nowhere at all. The smile Wonka had been wearing on the way here faded away. Memories fought for precedence in his head. A dull throbbing started at his temple and it got worse with each step he took.

Charlie noticed the change in Mr Wonka. He tried to get Rose's attention but she was solely focused on getting to wherever they were going in the shortest time possible. She had just disappeared round a corner when Mr Wonka stopped dead in his tracks. Charlie tried to call Rose back but she was gone.

"Mr Wonka, I think you'd better sit down." Wonka did as he was told sitting down right where he was and leaning against the cold, concrete wall. The floor tilted horribly for a moment and then settled again to where it had been before. Charlie didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to tear after Rose before she got too far ahead, but another part could not bear to leave Mr Wonka all alone. Suppose someone found him? Suppose Slugworth himself came!

"I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have come with you," said Mr Wonka with a weak smile, "It seems I've been screwing things up a lot lately."

"That's not true!" protested Charlie but Mr Wonka wasn't listening. His eyes had adopted a glazed look. Charlie did not like that at all.

"Mr Wonka? I think we should try and get back to the…"

"No," said Mr Wonka his attention snapping back, "No." He got to his feet with a slight wince. "We can't go without saving the factory." Charlie saw that he was never going to win this battle.

"Alright," he said, "Let's find Rose." They began to walk forwards but things are never simple. They had only turned the first corner when they were faced by two identical corridors.

"How do we know which one to take?" Charlie asked running up to both of them in turn. Mr Wonka pointed with his cane at the left one.

"That one," he said.

"How do you know?" asked Charlie which earned him a sharp look. He decided not to argue. He just hoped that Rose had realised that they weren't behind her; he didn't fancy walking blindly through the deserted factory any more than he had to. They walked for a few minutes in silence. Charlie kept looking behind him but no one was there, only their shadows on the grey walls.

"Charlie?"

"Yes, Mr Wonka."

"Listen." Charlie stopped and listened. At first he could hear nothing and then, very faintly, he made out the sound of footsteps. His eyes widened. They were headed their way.

"There you are!" Rose came into view, her face full of relief. "I didn't know what to think." Charlie would have felt relieved too only her tense whisper and the way she kept glancing over her shoulder was not doing much for his nerves.

"What's wrong with…?" Rose pointed at Mr Wonka who was staring at the wall as if something very interesting was written on it.

"He's not very well," said Charlie, "We need to get him out of here."

"But…we're so close!" said Rose. Charlie looked once again at Mr Wonka who looked back at him blankly. Charlie looked at Rose.

"Are we really close?" She nodded twisting her hands together as she did so.

"Ok," said Charlie suddenly feeling about ten years older, "We've only got a little way to go, Mr Wonka. Do you think you can…?"

"I never did tell you about those sheep did I, Charlie? Would you like to know now?"

"Um…we don't really have time right now, Mr Wonka." Mr Wonka looked most offended.

"Fine," he said crossing his arms across his chest, "If that's the way you want it. I am ill, you know." Charlie had to fight very hard not to roll his eyes. Usually Mr Wonka's behaviour was perfectly tolerable but usually they were in the factory and eccentricity was positively encouraged. Right now it was really getting in the way. Rose didn't know what to make of it either. She looked at Mr Wonka like he was something alien and then pointed to a door up ahead.

"Through there," she said but before they could take so much as another step forwards a voice spoke from behind them, an oily, nasty, greedy voice.

"Not so fast." Charlie didn't need to be told who was behind them. They had just been caught red handed by Slugworth.

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A/N:o! Looking forward to hearing what you guys think ;-) Thanks for your reviews, I will try and find time to respond individually this time.


	23. Fire from a Rose

A/N: I think this is the penultimate episode. It is at the moment anyway ;-).

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_Chapter 22: Fire from a Rose_

Charlie could not bring himself to turn round and face the enemy. Rose had frozen too, her body stiff with terror. Charlie could understand her reaction, and he could understand his own, what he could not understand was why Mr Wonka decided to burst into almost hysterical giggles. Rose turned to stare at him and thenher eyesturned fearfully to the corridor where Slugworth was surely standing with a victorious look on his face. Charlie could not help it, he looked too. He looked and he looked and he looked but no matter how hard or long he stared there was nothing but empty corridor stretching on behind them just as they had left it. But if Slugworth had found them why had he disappeared? Mr Wonka continued to giggle so hard he was actually breathless. Rose dug her hands fiercely into her pockets and for the first time she actually looked quite angry.

"That wasn't funny," she whispered starkly, and that was when Charlie finally understood what had happened. Slugworth had never found them; the words had come from Mr Wonka instead. He had to agree with Rose on this one, despite how amusing Mr Wonka evidently found his little prank, it really was not funny.

"Oh, don't look so glum, Charlie," said Mr Wonka recovering himself at last, "A chocolatier has to learn to look on the light side of life, not everyone likes dark chocolate you know." Rose shook her head in disbelief and Mr Wonka gave her a very strange fleeting look before turning back to Charlie.

"Well, I feel much better after that, shall we continue?" He got to his feet in one smooth movement. Charlie didn't know what had just happened. Did Mr Wonka really feel better? Why had he tricked them both like that? Would he ever be able to understand his mentor? His heart was still hammering unpleasantly but he managed a small smile.

"Ok," he said opting to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened, "Let's go."

Rose was not keen on turning her back on Mr Wonka after what she had just witnessed. If that was his idea of fun, she didn't like to think what else he might try. She thought she could still hear his laughter echoing through the corridor above and around them. It had been a long time since she had been in the presence of laughter, even longer since she had laughed herself and though Mr Wonka's prank had not been funny in the slightest she had the strangest feeling inside of her, like a small balloon she had been carrying with her for years and years had popped only she didn't know what the balloon had contained or whether she should be worried about it no longer being there. All she knew was that she didn't want anything else to interrupt their quest. Get in, get out, that's all she wanted. If Slugworth had caught them…her blood ran cold. Don't think about it. Get in, get out and worry about it later.

Charlie kept half an eye on Mr Wonka as they continued to follow Rose. Wonka's smile had finally fallen away to be replaced by a vacant expression that Charlie was a little fearful of but they had come too far now. Rose turned and pressed a finger to her lips.

"Through there," she mouthed pointing to a grey door which looked like it might lead to a prison cell or something similar. As Charlie walked towards it he longed for the colour and life of Wonka's factory. He couldn't help thinking that whatever was through that door really didn't want to be discovered.

"Don't worry, Charlie," said Mr Wonka, "It can't be scarier than anything in Loompa Land." Clearly this was supposed to reassure but Charlie's stomach twisted into an even tighter knot than before. Rose's white hands pushed open the door and Charlie held his breath as it slowly crept open to reveal a very large, very dark room beyond.

Rose closed the door as soon as Mr Wonka and Charlie were through it. The light was so dim all any of them could see where black shapes piled high almost to the ceiling in various places and smaller piles dotted here and there. Rose reached for the light switch, counted to three and then flooded the room with light. Mr Wonka gasped.

"Charlie…" he whispered, his lilac eyes wide as saucers. Now, at last, with the evidence before him, Mr Wonka finally believed her. Rose stared at the label on the nearest box. Wonka, it read simply. She remembered back to when this had been a fight to keep her customers, when all she had wanted was to be able to make fudge in her own house with the guarantee that someone was going to buy it when it was done. The sun had set on that dream now.

"Miss Wilson?" Rose started and stared fearfully at Charlie.

"Y-yes?" she whispered.

"Which ones are….poisoned?" Charlie said the word very carefully as if he were afraid of the effect it might have on Mr Wonka. As it happened Mr Wonka appeared to be too stunned by the appearance of a whole room full of his produce that he did not seem to be listening at all.

"I don't know," said Rose honestly looking around, "I…I heard him say three hundred." But the number alone was woefully inadequate information when they were faced with such a mountain of chocolate.

"Slugworth must have hidden the poisoned bars in different boxes," said Charlie and Rose saw his shoulders sinking, "How are we going to…?" He couldn't bring himself to finish the question and Rose didn't blame him. She didn't know how they were going to locate the poisoned chocolate either. She was distracted by Mr Wonka who had walked up to the largest pile of boxes and was touching them tenderly, running his purple gloved hands over them. Rose actually expected to hear him start talking to them.

"Mr Wonka," said Charlie almost timidly, "We'll never be able to…"

"I know," said Mr Wonka tightly. Rose didn't understand. It was as if a plan had been formed between Mr Wonka and little Charlie without words, a plan they both understood completely while she was left feeling completely forgotten. Charlie must have heard her thoughts because he turned to her.

"We're going to have to destroy it all," he said solemnly. Mr Wonka flinched as the words were spoken like Charlie had pinched him.

"Destroy it?" repeated Rose fearfully.

"It's the only way to stop more children getting hurt," said Charlie sounding far, far older than his years. That Rose could accept, sort of, but how exactly were they going to destroy a whole warehouse full of chocolate without raising suspicion?

Wonka's heart was twisting in his chest. The life of the bars of chocolate before him swam before his eyes from the birth of each cocoa bean to the churning and mixing in the waterfall to the final wrapping ready for sale. Could he really wilfully destroy all that chocolate? He thought of the children who would have otherwise have enjoyed it and pictured the faces of those who would bite off more than they had bargained for.

"Charlie," he said, "I need a match." It didn't occur to him that this might be an unreasonable request.

"Um, Mr Wonka? I don't have a match," said Charlie after turning out his pockets in the vain hope that they would contain what he knew they never had.

"Oh." Wonka checked his own pockets and found a stick of unused chewing gum, three glass marbles, a handful of cocoa beans and a broken watch but no matches. Perhaps a little forward planning would have helped. Annoyed with himself and with the predicament they were all in, Wonka sat down on one of the boxes of his own chocolate to think but the moment he tried that his head, the principle organ for thinking in his experience, began to ache like it had been hit really hard with a never ending gobstopper and made the whole process quite unbearable.

Rose carefully slipped her fingers into her deep cardigan pocket. She knew exactly what she would find in there. One neatly folded handkerchief embroidered with her initials, and one half empty box of matches. She had been trying to light the hob on her oven but her hands had been shaking too badly so she had given up and dropped the matches into her pocket so that she would be able to find them if she decided to try again later. Her fingers closed around them but that is as far as she dared to go.

Charlie looked at Mr Wonka. The exertions of the last hour were showing once again. It was peculiar that one moment he should be quite well and the next ill again but Charlie did not think of it for too long, after all if Mr Wonka was peculiar when he was healthy there was no reason to suggest that this would not transfer to when he was ill too.

"Maybe there's another way to destroy the chocolate," said Charlie hopefully. Mr Wonka flinched again. "Maybe we could…"

"Maybe you could explain exactly what you're all doing in my factory."

The air froze. There was no other way to describe it. Rose thought for a moment that her heart had actually stopped but then it began to beat harder than ever, blood thundering through her veins. This time there was no trick because this time she could see him, Slugworth, standing triumphantly ten metres or so away looking for all the world like he had expected to see her, a young boy and his most deadly rival in with his supply of Wonka chocolate.

"Miss Wilson," he said turning to look at her, "How nice to see you." He sounded sincere, but Rose was sure it was a trick. After all, she had effectively been caught red handed with the enemy. _Don't panic, Rose. Don't panic. _In those first few minutes Rose did not give a single thought to Mr Wonka or to Charlie except to think of them are testament to her guilt and therefore the proof Slugworth needed. She didn't think that maybe they would be just as worried and just as scared as she was.

"You looked worried, Miss Wilson," said Slugworth silkily, "You needn't be concerned. Thank you for bringing them to me." The bottom fell out of Rose's stomach but neither Charlie nor Mr Wonka looked at her. They did not believe him.

Mr Wonka viewed his nemesis with cold, lilac eyes. Mercifully his head had stopped pounding, or maybe it hadn't, maybe the feelings the sight of Slugworth had induced had overridden everything else. He stood up, glad that he was dressed in his finest attire. Charlie stepped forwards but Wonka held up a hand to stop him. This was not Charlie's fight, maybe it would be someday but today it was between Slugworth and himself.

"Mr Wonka." Slugworth addressed him greasily. Wonka's lip curled. How was it possible that Slugworth could make every word he said seem a thousand times uglier than it was when it was spoken by anyone else?

"What a rare pleasure to have your company. If I had known that stockpiling your chocolate was what it took to get you to emerge from your fortress I might have tried it a long time ago." Wonka wasn't sure he knew what Slugworth was inferring. Charlie, who was quite possibly quicker on the uptake, tried to step forwards again but Wonka put a hand on his chest to keep him back. Slugworth seemed to find it all very amusing.

"There's no need to be gallant, Mr Wonka," he said in a tone that suggested he was very, very pleased with himself. "I do not intend to harm any of you, I'm not even going to call the police unless of course you attempt anything stupid. The knowledge that you are walking away from that which will be your undoing will be good enough for me."

"You won't get away with this!" cried Charlie vehemently, "We'll tell everyone what you've done!" Slugworth laughed, the sound bounced around the room making all three of them shiver.

"I don't think anyone will believe you, little boy."

"His name is Charlie," said Wonka pronouncing each word very clearly so that there could be no mistake. Slugworth continued to smirk.

"Oh, I know his name," he said, "Mr Charlie Bucket, famous for winning Wonka's grand prize, and soon to be infamous for helping Mr Wonka to spread misery and pain to children all over the world." Oh no. That was going too far. Mr Wonka's hands began to ball into fists but then stopped. Something told him that there was no need to worry. If he wasn't very much mistaken, things were about to take a turn for the better.

Charlie noticed the change in Slugworth's expression first; it went from a kind of evil centred smug satisfaction to irritation.

"Why are you smiling?" he snapped. Well, Charlie wasn't smiling, and he didn't need to look to know that it wasn't Rose, she hadn't smiled once all the time they had been in the factory so Slugworth could only be talking about one person. And he was right, Mr Wonka was smiling and not the false, stick on smile he so often used in a stressful situation. This was a true, mischievous, slightly frightening smile.

"Why are you smiling?" Slugworth repeated his composure fracturing. Charlie looked up at Mr Wonka questioningly and the moment his eyes met his mentor's he realised that he could smell smoke.

Rose dropped the empty box of matches unable to believe that she had done it. While Slugworth had been talking she had managed to slip away unnoticed and a voice resembling her mother's had taken over from there. She had lit match after match dropping them onto the boxes of chocolate and moving on until she had done all the damage she could do. It was only when she saw the first flickering yellow tongue of flame leap upwards that she realised just what she had done. Her mouth formed a small 'oh' of shock and even before Slugworth started shouting and screaming she had fainted dead away.

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A/N: Give Rose her dues, she came through in the end :-). Thank you for your reviews. I'm really sorry for not having the time to reply, I feel bad about that, I really do. But thank you, thank you very much.


	24. Flowers

A/N: This is it, the final encore. I had planned to get this up last week but I came down with the flu and couldn't even get out of bed let alone write. Feeling fantastic now so here you are! I've included visible breaks in this chapter when there is a point of view change, better late than never ;-)

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_Chapter 23: Flowers_

At first Charlie could only stare as Slugworth's eyes popped and his jaw dropped. Then he started shouting, his face going red from the chin upwards. That was when Charlie turned round and saw the flames, bright and hot, climbing up towards the ceiling. He looked around but Rose had disappeared.

"I'll get your for this!" roared Slugworth before turning on his heel and storming out. The next thing Charlie heard was the heavy thud of a door being slammed shut. He turned to Mr Wonka panic clawing at his heart like a wild animal.

"Mr Wonka, what do we do?" he asked feverishly, "I think Mr Slugworth has locked us in." But Mr Wonka did not appear to be listening. The disappearance of Slugworth had shifted his attention to the melting, the smell of which was mixing with the smoke making the air thick with two heavy scents competing with each other.

"Mr Wonka," Charlie tried again tugging on Wonka's jacket sleeve, "Mr Wonka, we need to get out of here!" This seemed to job Mr Wonka back to his senses. He looked at Charlie then looked around, a painfully sad look on his face.

"Why Charlie, I think you might be right," he said quite calmly as if he found himself in such perilous situations every day. He did not seem to be in any rush, though, and took the time to sigh dramatically as the flames spread yet further.

"Mr Wonka," pleaded Charlie who was beyond frightened now. The heat was becoming unbearable and he was sure that if they stayed much longer the flames would consume them too. He saw his parents and his grandparents as if someone had painted pictures of them in front of him. He saw the factory, he saw his school and his friend, Terry. He saw fragments of his past, laid out like photographs, each one glistening like a freshly made mint humbug. He screwed his eyes tight shut. If this was the end then he wanted those pictures to be the last thing he ever saw.

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Mr Wonka finally realised that he could not wait any longer. It was now or never and he'd never really been a fan of never. He reached into his pocket for the button the Oompa Loompa had handed him back at the factory, seemed so long ago now. He sighed again, finger poised to press down on the large red button. Such a waste of good chocolate. With another melodramatic pause, Wonka pressed the button down hard. At first nothing happened. The fire continued to burn, belching out smoke at an impressive rate and choking out the sweet smell of melting chocolate. It was only then that Wonka saw Charlie standing with his eyes tight shut, an expression of grim determination on his face. The poor boy looked as if he was about to face a lifetime of eating caterpillars. Wonka shivered at the thought. He was about to tell Charlie that he really had no need to worry when an enormous crash did the talking for him.

Bits of ceiling showered down all over them as the glass elevator made its very undignified entrance. Charlie, who had quite plainly believed the end was nigh, only opened his eyes when Mr Wonka put a hand on his shoulder. The way his eyes lit up was spectacular.

"Let's go home, Charlie," said Mr Wonka. Charlie looked about to ready to collapse in relief when a fresh look of terror flashed across his young features.

"But Mr Wonka!" he cried, "What about Miss Wilson?"

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"It's time to wake up now, sweetheart." Rose wanted to listen to her mother and open her eyes but stronger forces held them shut. She wanted so badly to open them and see her mother's face again. It had been so long since she'd seen that face looking back at her, so very long.

"Mum?"

"Yes, darling?"

"You will be there when I wake up, won't you?" Rose wanted to stop breathing so she could better listen for the answer.

"I'm afraid not, Rosie, at least, not in the way you'd like me to be." Now Rose really did feel like she had stopped breathing. The painful reality of her mother's death was coming back to her, like it did every time she opened her eyes to a new day. Tears pricked her closed eyelids.

"No…no…" She didn't want to believe it. She wouldn't believe, then maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be true. The sound of laughter startled her. A child was running past wherever she was lying, and there were other sounds too. Talking, movement, the rattling of something on a tray. Every muscle in her body squeezed tight. These weren't the sound of home, so where was she? Cautiously, she relaxed her face enough to allow her eyelids to part. At first the light was so bright that all she could see was white. The intensity of it gave her an instant headache but she forced herself to keep her eyes open. She was lying on a bed that wasn't her own. The blanket over her felt stiff and smelt too clean. There were light blue curtains drawn completely round her that looked like they were made out of the same material as the curtains you get around shower baths to stop water spraying everywhere. Rose could hear people on the other side of it moving and talking. The air smelt of disinfectant and perfume. A flash of colour out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She moved her head, which felt surprisingly heavy, to see what it was. Flowers. Bright blooms of every size and colour were arranged in an enormous bouquet that spilled over the little table they had been placed on and flooded the whole area around them with colour and light. Rose stared at them until she was sure they were real and not a mirage thrown up by her confused mind. They did not answer the question of why she was here though it was becoming increasingly clear where here was. The squeaky clean floor, the atmosphere of enforced calm, the lemon scented cleaning agents used to cover up everything else. She had to be in hospital.

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Charlie heard someone below him give a soft gasp a millisecond before something smashed on the floor. Despite his tiredness, Charlie jumped out of bed to see what was happening. He could see the top of his mother's head, she was holding a newspaper and staring at the front page. Her tea was now on the floor, the cup in pieces. Suddenly, as if she knew she was being watched, she looked up.

"Charlie," she managed to say breathlessly, "You told me…." Charlie knew what she meant. When he and Mr Wonka had returned to the factory they had agreed not to say anything about what had happened so Charlie had reluctantly lied to his parents. He'd told them he was tired to avoid their questions but had assured them nothing dangerous had happened and that everything was alright. From the look on his mother's face, Charlie realised that now was a good time to start telling the truth.

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Mr Wonka spread out every edition of the morning newspaper that the Oompa Loompa's had brought to him. Every one of them had a variation of the same picture on the front. It was a burning building, with smoke rising up to the sky, fire engines surrounding it and trying to contain the blaze. The articles were all the same too, some more exciting than others. Slugworth's factory burnt to the ground in an apparent arson attack! Slugworth himself has disappeared leading many to speculate on whether he torched his own property! Large amounts of illegal chemicals found on site! All Slugworth products to be pulled from the shelves for safety testing! Slugworth stocks down 50! Mr Wonka's smile widened. He really did feel so much better. Amazing what a piece of absolutely fantastic, couldn't be better news can do for your health.

There was a knock at his door. Wonka span round eagerly.

"Enter!" he called out happily. A moment later and the happy smile he had thought he would wear for at least a week was faltering. Grandpa Joe, Mr Bucket and Mrs Bucket accompanied by a tearful Charlie entered his room wearing different expressions. Mr Bucket looked disappointed and a little nervous; Mrs Bucket looked the most upset but there was anger there too, she had a newspaper in her hand; and Grandpa Joe looked like he would really rather not be a witness to whatever was about to happen. Wonka could hear squeaking and realised he was opening and closing his hands in agitation.

"Can you explain this?" Mrs Bucket asked sharply and she opened the paper she had been holding. It displayed the familiar front page and Mr Wonka could not stop a fresh smile from lighting up his face.

"Have you read it?" he enquired excitedly, "Isn't it wonderful? I knew there would be a happy ending. I just knew it!" He looked to Charlie who he expected to join him in looking pleased but his eyes were heavy and his shoulders drooped. Once again, Wonka felt the joy inside him flickering like a candle being blown in the wind. Mrs Bucket's hand was trembling; the newspaper she was holding was beginning to shake.

"Charlie told us that nothing dangerous happened," she said. It was taking a tremendous effort for her to keep her voice and manner calm. Wonka looked at Charlie silently asking him for help but Charlie looked just as helpless as he felt. It seemed their fail safe plan of not telling everyone what had happened might have had a few holes in it after all.

"Well," said Mr Wonka struggling to maintain an air of authority over the whole situation, "I was with him the whole time." This did not seem to pacify Mrs Bucket at all, in fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect but before she could explode Mr Bucket stepped in.

"We can't have our son put in situations such as that, it's unacceptable. He's a young boy, he can't be expected to fight an adult's fight." There were tears falling down Charlie's face now. Wonka was oddly captivated by them. He found himself unable to stop looking at them. Mr Bucket continued to talk and Mrs Bucket kept interrupting, her voice getting angrier and angrier but Mr Wonka no longer heard them. Why weren't they trying to stop Charlie's tears?

"Charlie," he said cutting off both Mr and Mrs Bucket, "Is everything alright?"

* * *

"How are you feeling, Rose?" The nurse had a kind face and a gentle manner. Rose swallowed and mustered up the courage to speak.

"Ok," she said very quietly. It was true. Apart from feeling a little disorientated and shocked, she felt fine. The nurse smiled.

"That's good, I'll just check you over and if everything's ok then you'll be free to go. Not many people escape a fire like that unscathed. You're lucky somebody found you." As the nurse took her pulse and made her breath in and out several times, Rose tried to remember what had happened. She remembered up to the point when she had passed out, colour began to flame in her face as she recalled that it was she who had started the fire that was now all over every national newspaper. Did anybody know it was her? Would anyone be able to tell?

"Breath out, Rose. There, that's it." Rose felt herself relax again. The nurse really was very nice. Rose read the name 'Julie' on a badge pinned to her blue uniform.

"What amazing flowers these are," said nice Julie admiring the enormous bouquet that seemed to take up more space in the ward than Rose did, "Are they from your family?" Rose looked blank. She didn't know who they were from. Julie waited for an answer for a second then, realising perhaps that she wasn't going to get one, said, "Well, they really are lovely. When you're ready to leave, give me a shout and I'll help you carry them out." When she had gone, Rose slipped out of bed and stared at the flowers. She touched them, running her fingers over the soft petals of the pink roses. Only one person had ever bought her pink roses. Her mother must have bought them! A flood of unbidden excitement rushed through her washing away the numbness she had been suffering from since getting up. Her mother had sent them! How, she didn't know but it must have been her. Who else could it have been? She plunged her nose into the flowers and drank in their heavenly scent willing it to drown out the awful monotone lemon that was everywhere else around her. Her hand brushed against something that did not feel like a petal or a leaf. She looked down and her heart began to accelerate like a speeding train. It was an envelope, a purple one. She snatched it up and held it in her hands like it was made of fragile glass. A message from her mother…it had to be. She turned it over and carefully slit the purple paper open.

'_Thank you for saving my factory._

_WW_

_Ps. The flowers were Charlie's idea. He said something about flowers making his mother feel better when she was ill. I was quite shocked that he couldn't recognise his mother. The smoke must have clouded up his mind a little. I'm pleased to say he's quite alright now and he wishes you well.'_

Rose stared at the letter sure that she was going to cry, but no tears came. She waited and waited but still she didn't cry. She read the letter again and a third time. No matter how many times she read it she still did not feel herself getting upset. The flowers weren't from her mother, it's true, but then how could they have been? She began to feel foolish for even thinking of it. The flowers were from Mr Wonka and little Charlie who must have saved her from the fire before returning to their factory. She tucked the letter back inside the envelope and sat down on the edge of the bed. It was time for her to return to her pink house and start again. Nurse Julie had told her that she should look after herself and maybe she would try, but the thought of returning to her beloved house without the smell of fudge to greet her made her spirits sink. She'd done the right thing by putting an end to Slugworth's evil scheming but what was left for her? She sighed and put down the purple envelope. All she had left were these flowers and the memories of the life she had enjoyed years ago. That would have to do.

* * *

Charlie's tears had a remarkable effect on the whole Bucket family. Mrs Bucket had gone from dragon to waterfall and dissolved into tears of her own, wrapping up her son tightly in her arms and sobbing into his neck. Mr Bucket's eyes had been a little shiny too, and Grandpa Joe had to admit, if he was completely honest, that a tear or two had escaped him before he could stop them. The only one unaffected by all this emotion was Mr Wonka who looked nothing short of bewildered. He looked at Grandpa Joe.

"Does this mean I'm not in trouble any more?" he asked with all the innocence of a boy Charlie's age. Grandpa Joe couldn't help laughing.

"Yes, Mr Wonka. I believe that's exactly what it means."

And so the factory went back to normal. Shops began buying Wonka products even more than before in an effort to make up for the mistake that had been made and to cover the gap in the market that Slugworth's disappearance had made. Charlie resumed his studies in the art of chocolatiering; Mrs Bucket gradually stopped worrying so much about his safety; Mr Bucket could finally stop thinking about Charlie long enough to concentrate properly on his job; Grandpa Joe found that he was really quite good at Oompa Loompaish and became very friendly with the leader of the tribe, an Oompa Loompa with a name that cannot be written down, such is the nature of their language; Grandma Josephine, Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina settled back down to their life of leisure watching their family content to watch their family bustle around them; and Mr Wonka found that his happiness lasted a lot longer than a week. He even managed a visit to his father without breaking anything or fainting which, as Charlie pointed out, was a significant achievement. Everything was just the way it should be and as the weeks since Slugworth's downfall rolled by with still no sign of the man himself Mr Wonka found himself on an inventing streak the likes of which he had not experienced in years. He had just decided to start working on a set of new fudge flavours when Charlie reminded him of someone he had not thought about in a long time.

"Mr Wonka, what do you think Miss Wilson is doing these days?" It took a few seconds for Wonka to remember who Charlie was talking about.

"I have absolutely no idea, Charlie," he answered, "Why would I?" Charlie, who had been stirring a huge pot of sticky pink gloop, stopped stirring and stared at it thoughtfully.

"Do you think we should go and visit her?" he asked delicately.

"Visit her?" Wonka felt like shuddering but he didn't, he felt like walking away but he couldn't. A strange sensation was coming over him, like he had just swallowed a pleasingly hot liquid.

"Do you think we should?" asked Charlie looking up, "She might like that." Mr Wonka thought about if for a moment then shook his head.

"No, I don't think she would. Besides, we've got too much to do here. A chocolatier can't just go gallivanting off to see other people! Oh no, too much to do for that kind of nonsense." Charlie went back to stirring occasionally looking up and giving him the strangest looks. Mr Wonka pretended to ignore him but the strange warm feeling continued long after the subject had been changed.

* * *

Meanwhile, not so far away drifting from the open window of a little pink cottage almost entirely obscured by trees was the most delicious smell. The few people who walked past stopped for a moment to close their eyes and breathe it in, their dogs doing the same, tongues lolling out, and in the minds of their human owners came a thought. _It'd be nice to buy some fudge on the way home, the kids would like that…and so would I!_ The woman inside the cottage could not hear their thoughts, of course, but she would have been too busy with her own to listen anyway. She'd received an order from a big confectionary store a few towns away requesting more fudge than she had ever made from a shipment before. The store owner had given the strangest name and he'd sounded awfully familiar on the phone, though Rose was sure they could never have met before. Perhaps she had been so happy to be making fudge again that her ears had been playing tricks. As she watched three saucepans of boiling fudge bubbled away she let her mind fly to Wonka's factory and the people inside. She wondered if Mr Wonka minded that she was selling fudge again, she wondered if he knew. She wasn't planning to take over the market, she wasn't even planning to expand her business. As long as she had a few stores to cater for, and her mother's recipe book there would be a smile on her face. She breathed in the sweet, sweet scent of strawberry flavoured fudge. Rose's fudge was back in business, and even if it was better than Wonka's, it was here to stay.

THE END

* * *

A/N: Finito! What did you think? Final opinions? Writing this had been a fun adventure, I've really enjoyed it. As usual, finishing a fic means I'll be taking a break from fic writing. Who knows when I'll be back, sooner rather than later I expect ;-).

Thank you to everyone who's been reading and to those who've taken time to review. Thank you for letting me know what you think and for encouraging me to continue. I hope you've enjoyed the ride.


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